
Class JESjSSJO- 



CopightN"4.$lA 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



rambles and Twigs 
of Song 



BY 



John Augustin Keane 



AUTHOR OF 

"Mr. Grub's Vacation:' "The Tenor of the Sistim 

Chapel." 



/^M) 

^ 



BROADWAY PUBLISHING COMP'Y, 
835 Broadway, New York. 

Branches at Baltimore, Atlanta and Florence, Ala. 






Copyright, iQio, 

BY 

John Augustin Keane. 



All rights reserved. 



©CI.A268003 



It seems as though it tuere hut yesterday 
When the dear grandma placed you in my arms, 
And bade me guess how much my ''doir might 

weigh, 
And feast my eyes on all your infant charms; 

Not zvell 'twas guessed, hut never were there eyes 
And feelings Hooded zvith more joy than ours ; 
Since then your very presence satisfies 
The household flock, as dew and sun the flowers. 

As the exalted soul who gave you hirth. 
And taught yon, gently, gentle zvays to live, 
Nozv dzvells zvith all the ransomed of the earth, 
Where naught is lacking God deems good to give; 

With her hless'd memory I fain zvould link 
These runes she prized — for heing mine, 'tis true — 
With ev'ry tender zvish fond thought can think, 
I dedicate them, dear, to her and you. 



PREFACE 

In seeking a name for this book the author en- 
deavored to find one that in sense and sound 
might be deemed appropriate — that should not be 
thought over-pretentious. A title, indeed,' likely 
to convey to the reader the nature and quality of 
its contents without dubbing them either poems, 
verse or rhyme. Let it be supposed, then, that a 
name, presumed to be in all respects suitable, was 
found in this wise : The tangled brambles and 
twigs of a wayside hedge, crowded with its 
springtide glossy leaves, beneath the shadows of 
neighboring elms, became tinctured with desires 
which ultimately made them emulous of the vi- 
rent, wind-singing and swinging branches high 
above ; but they, being by nature compact and 
stunted, could neither respond to the improvisa- 
tions of the breeze as it blew over, nor reach with- 
in a satisfactory distance of its touch, gave ex- 
pression to their feelings in some such way as 
this : 

Ho! blustering breeze, blow down and play fair, 
For we cannot reach yon so high in the air, 
Nor join in the pleasure you're bringing 
The trees, from their tips to each root; 
Though lacking in measure of being so great. 
Is that a good reason zve shan't emulate 
Their sad, soft sighing, their zueird wind-singing, 
Their szuay-ing and gladness to boot? 

Yea, answered the roistering, high-flirting hreese, 

A-blozving straight dozvn from the merry-top trees. 

Thy voices, aspiring bushes. 

By Nature's unerring decrees. 

Are crude and discordant; the gifts which thou hast 

Can never sound szveetly in zephyr or blast 

Till trees take to breeding marsh rushes. 

And rushes embozver the trees. 



II PREFACE 

So, with sympathy and fellow- feehiig for the 
lowly and well-intentioned bramble-kind in their 
desire to join the jubilant and minor strains of 
their gifted neighbors, these little effusions in- 
sisted on being christened Brambles and Twigs 
OF Song. 

Several of the lyrics herein — for which the 
writer also composed the music — have had their 
due share of praise and blame in connection with 
their melodies and harmonized settings, when 
being played for, and sung by many a sweet 
young voice of other days. 

Exclusive of the pleasure and sense of restful- 
ness vv^hich such intellectual work affords a mind 
engaged in the active pursuits of life, the end and 
aim of every stanza written was to express, as 
clearl}^ and metrically as possible, the many facts 
and fancies with which the work abounds. 

Such subjects being the common thought-prop- 
erty of the world at large, the word pictures here- 
in drawn may awaken, it is hoped, a happy 
thought or a pleasant memory of 

Songs of life's joy and rue, 
Dreams that you may have known, 
Storms that you've battled through, 
Hopes that were all your own; 
Scenes that you prized in youth, 
Loves like to yours, most sweet. 
Prayers that you prayed in truth, 
FaitJi that is all complete. 

J. A. Keane. 



PREFACE I" 



Would mine were gift of minstrel true 
Who sings in tune through ev'ry measure, 
Whose simplest strains the ear can woo. 
Whose lofty themes Mind loves to treasure. 

Though faintly zveak the staves I raise, — 
As chippers do when larks are singing — 
By chance they may outlive the lays 
Which die at birth, like chimes a-ringing. 

But come what may, I've thrummed the strings 
Of Fancy through the vanished season; 
Enjoyed the hours such twanging brings 
While mingling rhythm with fair reason. 

Whiche'er may hap, or praise or blame, 
This tome of mine has thoughts a-scatter; 
If they should lack poetic Hame, 
Perhaps they glozv zuith prosy matter. 

And that indeed' s the common bent 
Of delving minds — thus I have found them; 
So, poems or prose, I'm quite content — 
Pray read, digest, then pat or — pound them. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Poems of the Sea. 

The River Bridge i 

Wavelets 5 

The Moaning Sea .... 6 

Fly Back, O Gray Gulls 7 

The Emigrant Ship 7 

Shipwrecked 10 

On Jutting Point Rocks 10 

Sea Gull Rocks 11 

The Sea and the Wind 11 

Gone Down 12 

The Fisherman's Wife. 13 

The Bay of New York 14 

High Tide iS 

The Surging Sea 16 

The Sea Storm 17 

Storm Bound 17 

The Sea King's Ride.. 18 

On the Breton Coast. . 18 

Waiting 20 

My Sailor Boy 20 

Outward Bound 21 

By the Sea 22 

The Ocean 23 

Out at Sea 23 

The Sea Wind 26 

The Bell Buoy 26 

A Sailors Yarn 27 

Before the Mast 30 

A Shipmate's Sermon. . 31 

Stranded 32 

A Half Gale 33 

Poor Mary 33 

Poems of Love. 

Roses 37 

Love 37 

Bring Her to Your Nest 37 



PAGE 

Under the Apple Blos- 
soms 39 

By the Open Fire 39 

O Kathleen Asthore ... 39 

A Bachelor's Soliloquy. 40 

Willie's Woe 42 

A Maiden's Soliloquy.. 43 

The Crown of All 43 

If Love Be Blind 45 

Bright Eyes 46 

Reuben's Heaven 46 

True Affection 46 

What He Heard 47 

Miss Nancy 48 

Dorothy 50 

What Would You Do? 50 

Mignonette 52 

Loneliness 52 

Tell Me 52 

Love's Pleadings 53 

The Light in the Win- 
dow 54 

Aftermath 54 

The Old Story 55 

The Long Way Around 56 

When Will He Come? 56 

Contentment 58 

Constancy 59 

Inconstancy 59 

A Maiden's Choice.... 60 

The Power of Love... 60 

Jack and Jill 63 

Mollie Macree 63 

Five Years After 64 

Memory Bells 65 

Sunshine After Cloud.. 66 

Polly 67 

When My Love Comes 

Home 68 

V 



VI 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

White and Black 69 

The Mirror Brook ... 69 

Her Fetching Smile . . 69 

The Engagement Ring. 71 

Calling the Cows 71 

When Grandmother was 

a Lass ^2 

Confession T2> 

Love's Victory 74 

Love and Tact ....... 75 

A Day in June "J^i 

How Could You, Kitty? 76 

Proposal TJ 

A Daughter of Eve. ... 78 

Under the Old Oak Tree 78 

The Lure of Love.... 79 

Descriptive Poems. 

The Snow Storm 83 

A Judean Marriage .... 84 

A Moonlight Dance.. 87 

Love of the Country.. 90 

Pard Bill 90 

Chance 92 

The Solitaire 92 

The Frost Artist 94 

A Sketch 94 

An Excursion 95 

Daybreak loi 

A Rural Sketch loi 

Once on a Time loi 

A Winter Sunrise 103 

An Indian Legend.... 103 

A Farmyard Idyl .... 107 

On a Mountain 108 

A Spring Freshet .... no 

A Path to the Sea in 

Unseen Niagaras .... 112 

A Mid-Winter Walk.. 112 

The Haunted House .. 113 

A Summer Storm 114 

The Fall of the Year 115 

Sunset 115 

Dark Days 117 



page 

The Orchard Fence 117 

After the Rain 118 

A Vision of Sin 119 

Dreams 121 

The New and the Old 

Year 121 

A Hazy Morning .... 124 

A Valley Village .... 124 
An Hour Amid the 

Heather 130 

Clouds 132 

From Rural Lanes to 

Mandalay 132 

Asters 134 

A Forest Spring 135 

The Beautiful Bronx. . 135 

A Mountain Stream... 137 
The Bells of Sagua- 

nay 137 

The Deserted House. . 138 

A Tragic Incident 139 

What Katy Didn't 140 

The Dance in the 

Barn 141 

Woodland Sprites 141 

In an Old Cathedral. . 142 

Night 143 

Lyrical Poems. 

Beware 147 

Come Out with Me. . . . 147 
Norah Mavourneen . . 148 

Winnie Darling 149 

A Spanish Serenade . . 149 

Serenade 150 

Love's Tidings 150 

Jessie Adair 151 

If I Were You 151 

Dear Scenes of Youth 152 

Rest 152 

Come Again 153 

The Silent Song 153 

By-gone Days 154 

Believe Not the Lip... 155 



CONTENTS 



VII 



PAGE 

Swallow, O Swallow. . 155 
I Never Can Forget 

Thee 156 

O Sing that Song Again 157 

Expectancy 157 

A Morning Serenade.. 158 
Upon the Valley Hills 158 

Farewell 159 

Love's Shaft 159 

Lullaby 160 

Slumber Song 161 

Sentiment and Affection. 

Under the Snow 165 

Fond Heart, True 

Heart 166 

Celestial Memory 166 

Withered Leaves .... 166 

A Mother's Prayer . . . 167 
When Warm Days 

Come Again 168 

Woodlawn (an elegy) 168 

The Friends Who Are 

Gone 170 

Our Angel 171 

A Mother's Dream. . . 173 

A Silent City 174 

Bereaved 175 

Mercy Dean 175 

The Awakening 180 

Fallen Leaves 180 

The Wedding Ring... 180 

Margery's Doll 181 

Appreciation 182 

Dove Eyes 182 

Where Violets Grow.. 184 

Parted 184 

Baby's Clothes 185 

The Pearl 186 

A Mother's Grief 186 

Love and Death 187 

A Dying Mother 188 

Dear Hands 189 



page 
My Neighbor's Roses.. 190 

Hush-a-by, Baby 191 

Mamma's Girls 192 

Sentiment and Reflection 

How, When, Where?.. 195 

Thirty-five 196 

To Josephine 197 

The Spirit of Faith... 198 

In the Sunshine 198 

Baby Adele 198 

Blind Agnes 199 

A Riddle of Life 201 

In Her Baby's Chamber 202 

Devotion 203 

Day Dreams 204 

At Dusk 206 

Temptation 206 

But What of Those?.. 207 
As A Wandering Bird 207 
An Up-Stream Wind.. 208 
The Rhymes of Child- 
hood 208 

On Old Catawba's 

Banks 210 

October 211 

A Grandmother's Rev- 

ery 211 

Happy Heart 214 

Sympathy 214 

Time's Changes 215 

Decoration Day 216 

The Missing Child.... 216 

Sisters of Charity.... 217 

Pleasure 217 

Twilight Musings 218 

LTnrest 219 

De Lawd'll Purvide... 220 

Faith, Hope, Love.... 220 

The Inevitable 221 

In the Gloaming of 

Life 221 

To a Young Friend . . . 222 

At the Close of Day.. 223 



VIII 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

The First Violin 223 

When Shall We Meet 

Again ? 225 

Old St. Ann's Church.. 226 

Forgiveness 227 

The Lot of All 227 

Thy Neighbor 228 

Sursum Corda 228 

A Country Ramble.... 228 

The Butterfly 233 

Gray Hair 233 

Dearie O 234 

The Old Man's Song. . 235 
Song of a Lonely Heart 236 
The Winter of Dis- 
content 237 

Young Love and Old. . 237 

Cupid Victims 237 

September 238 

A Blighted Flow^er 238 

A Little Child Shall 

Lead Them 238 

Longings for Home.. . . 239 
Old Songs 241 

Poems of Nature. 

The Wild Flowers Dis- 
pute . 245 

The Green Young 

Year 247 

The Call of the Hills.. 247 
Echoes of Sunny Days 248 

Trailing Arbutus 248 

The Round of Time.. 249 

Song-time 249 

A Summer Mornine^... 250 

Rural Solitude 252 

Late Autumn 253 

A Bird's Reply 254 

Caste 255 

The Grove in Spring. . 255 

The Garden 256 

The Call of the Woods 257 
The Wood Thrush.... 257 



PAGE 

Little Brown Sparrows 258 
Spring's Auguries .... 259 

Miscellaneous Poems. 

President McKinley... 263 

Convalescent 264 

The Optimist 266 

The Flower Girl's 

Song 266 

At My Window 267 

An Editor's Dream . . . 269 

Self Seekers 272 

The Wind-jammer .... 272 

The Old Organ 272 

Sleep 273 

In the Springtime of 

Life 274 

Katzen jammer 275 

Servility 275 

Wishes ■• 276 

Teddy 277 

Wisdom 279 

A Blessing 279 

The Scoffer 280 

At the Door 281 

Sunshine of the Heart 282 

My Chum 282 

The Mendicant 282 

Insomnia 283 

Driving Home 284 

Care 289 

Vacation 289 

An Isle of Delight.... 290 

Ah Sin 291 

La Danseuse 292 

The Usurer 293 

The Hill 294 

The Exile 295 

Heimweh 296 

Mandy's Logic 296 

Envy 296 

At Last 297 

The Comedian 299 

Skating Song 299 



CONTENTS 



IX 



PAGE 

A Poor Man's Fortune 300 
Love's Impatience .... 301 
The Old Playground. . 302 
The Old Hall Clock... 303 
The Little Bootblack.. 303 

Idle Thoughts 305 

Song of the Sewing 

Machine 305 

The Wind Wolf 307 

Kindness 308 

A Fine Little Man 308 

Sweet Sixteen 310 

The Old Cider Mill .. 310 

Sleeplessness 311 

Eternity 312 

In a Garret 312 

At Bedtime 313 

Labor 314 

If-Its 315 

Something To Dt) 315 

Compensation 316 

A Poetaster's Quest... 316 

Boys at Play 317 

Forbearance 317 

A Midnight Toothache 318 
The Organ Grinder... 318 
The Indian Chief .... 319 

The Children 321 

Equality 321 

Two of a Kind 322 

Hunters 322 

Alphabetical Aphorisms 323 

On Broadway 325 

Longings 326 

A Windy Drive ^^V 

Early Days 328 

Apostrophe to Music . . 328 
An Old Beau's Revery 329 

The Wine Imp 330 

Hope 331 

His Ducky 331 

The Tramp 332 

The Boogieman 335 

The Coon in the 

Bushes 335 



PAGE 

Fishin' 2)?>7 

The Belle of the Alley :>iZ7 
Song of a Ne'er-do- 
well , . 339 

Fata Morgana 339 

A Sexton's Plaint .... 340 

Easter 342 

Verities 342 

An Everyday Man . . . 343 

The Pessimist 344 

In the Slums 344 

Saturday Night 345 

The Worry Fiend .... 346 

Cupid 346 

What Should a True 

Wife Do ? 347 

Persistence 348 

Una dia Espania 348 

A Tale of an Old 

Manse 349 

The Spirit of Winter.. 351 

Weathersprings Tree . . 352 

Retrospection 352 

The Maniac 353 

Regret 355 

Aspiration 355 

Deceived 355 

Her Litany 356 

A Pray'd-for Rain 357 

The Swimming Pool... 357 

The Invitation 358 

The Parish Church... 359 

Allegory Jingles 360 

A Rainy Day 362 

Daisies 363 

To-day 364 

Religious Poems. 

A Christmas Carol.... 367 

Galilee 368 

A Sabbath Dawn 37i 

A Sermonette 7)7^ 

O Spirit of Mine 2:7^ 

Sancta Humilites ZTi 



X 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Our Father 2>TZ 

Evening Hymn ^fl^ 

Until Seventy Times 

Seven 2!77 

A Morning Prayer . , . 378 

A Prayer 379 

Te Deum Laudamus . . 379 

Penitence 380 

Deo Gratias 380 

A Night Hymn 381 

Vespertime Nones .... 381 



PAGE 

Rest in Thee ........ 382 

Domini Exaudi Oratio- 

nem Meam 382 

Prayer 382 

Unto Thee, O Lord... 383 

Vesper Hymn 383 

At the Gate 384 

Ad Multiis Annos 385 

A Dream of Paradise 385 

The Ploughman 387 

Harvest Time 387 



POEMS OF THE SEA 



Brambles and Twigs of Song 



THE RIVER BRIDGE. 

The earth is soaked with rain, 

Which yet in torrents fall; 
They play a tattoo on the metal vane, 
And spring from the shingled roof into the lane, 
And splurge like a cataract into the drain, 

That greedily swallows all. 

The sky's so heavy and black. 

No silver cloud shows out; 
But following close on the vivid track 
The lightning-shaft cleaves o'er the chimney stack, 
The thunder-bolt falls with a deafening crack, 

On the bridge or thereabout. 

The water is flowing o'er 

The river's clayey side, 
And down from the hills, with a sullen roar, 
The streamlets rush and are joined with more, 
And into the current they speedily pour. 

Increasing the foamy tide. 

The bridge still bears the strain 

That presses upon its base, 
And bravely clings to the rusty chain 
And struggles with drift-wood and tide amain, 
Which gather their forces^ as if to constrain 

The brave old thing from its place. 

And still it holds its own 

'Gainst wind and rising tide. 
But trembles and shakes on its bed of stone. 
And straining, pleads with a piteous moan. 
Beseeching the river in agony's tone. 

The turbulent force to subside. 



2 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

"For fifty years and more," 

The old bridge pleads again, 
"I've spanned the space from shore to shore 
And safely carried the people o'er, 
With brides and grooms full many a score 

And many a funeral train. 

"I've borne the double weight 

Of lovers many a time ; 
I've heard them vow, both early and late. 
That each to each would be a true mate, 
And I've wished their love would never abate, 

Or be trailed in hatred's slime. 

"I've borne without complaint 

The traffic of many a year ; 
I've battled with winds of great constraint 
Till battered and torn and weak and faint. 
And never, till now, was heard my plaint 

By tide or by mortal ear. 

" 'Tis true I've held the men 

And boys above thy tides. 
Who came from the town, the village and glen. 
With line and with hook, with basket and tren, 
Who robbed thee of trout and of perch, too, but then 

They threw back the fishes' insides. 

"'Tis true, in bygone time 

I've felt a throb of joy. 
When picnicking crowds on my railing would climb 
And sing in their gladness full many a rhyme, 
With voices attuned to harmonical chime^ 

Nor thought I 'twould ever annoy. 

"I also guilty plead, 

Not meaning to offend, 
Of saving a mother and child in need, 
Who fell in thy water and could not succeed 
In reaching the shore — if that's a misdeed, 

No sorrow do I pretend. 

"I saw them sink and rise 
And struggle to reach the bank; 
Thy waves were blinding the sight from their eyes, 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

And slower and weaker were growing their cries, 
Till just at the spot where the old shallop lies 
They whirled in thy current and sank. 

''My ribs felt pity's sway 

When child and mother sank. 
So, out of my trestle, about the midway, 
A bolt I shook from me and with undelay 
Dropped down as they passed in thy depths to the bay, 

A part of my rotten old plank. 

"My weak old sight was pained 

At such a scene unblessed. 
But soon rejoiced when I ascertained 
That my brave old plank on the two had gained, 
And over thy water the mother sustained. 

With the baby still clasped to her breast. 

"And other sights I've seen, 

Not pleasant to relate ; 
In years aback, when my frame, I ween. 
Could better resist thy cowardly spleen, 
I saw in thy bosom a fair maiden screen 

A shame that no years could abate. 

"She lived, both child and maid, 

Nigh where yon roads diverge. 
And oftentimes to thy margin strayed, 
And 'neath the green willows' umbrageous shade 
Reclined, while thy ripples a threnody played, 
Like the sound of a saddening dirge. 

"And lithe of form was she. 

And fair her face and sweet; 
Thy pulseless ripples, it seemed to me. 
All wantonly dallied her beauty to see, 
And flowed higher up on the bank where she'd be. 

In tr3ang to lie at her feet. 

" 'Twas thus the days went by, 

Till one calm eventide 
A stranger came with an evil eye, 
His smile but a mask and his words all a lie, 
Who told of his love with a counterfeit sigh. 

And a semblance of feeling beside. 



4 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

"And oft they strayed along 

Thy marge at eventide, 
Nor dreamt she of sin nor the shadow of wrong, 
Her mind was as pure as the heavenly throng, 
While she thought of the time that was hast'ning along. 

When she change to a happy young bride. 

"The maples, blush bespread, 

Disrobed along thy line. 
When I saw the maid, with a troubled dread, 
As she walked alone, with a drooping head, 
Mid the fallen leaves that lay scattered and dead 

In the damp and the cold moonshine. 

"Her face was wan and white, 

And oft I heard a sigh 
As if from a soul in a pitiful plight, 
And in the bright sheen of the stars that night, 
I saw her haste down to thy brink in affright, 

As if longing, yet fearing to die. 

"She raised her pallid face. 

Brimful of blank despair. 
And gazed on the stars in the deep-vaulted space. 
And called to their maker to hide her disgrace 
By striking her dead as she stood in that place, 

Then dropped on the dead leaves in prayer. 

"And prostrate stayed she there / 

That damp autumnal night; 
Her poor, wrought mind full of anguish and care. 
With no one to pity her, no one to share 
The scorn and the shame she no longer could bear. 

Or hide from the world's keen sight. 

"Twas then my wrath found vent 

In loud and angry creak, 
As I cursed the cause of her detriment, 
And the brain that prompted the foul intent. 
From the hour that he came to the moment he went 

From the maiden, so gentle and meek. 

"The crescent hid away 
Behind a screen, cloud-made; 
The watch dog ceased his loud whine on the hill, 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG i 

And the night-hawk calling his whip-poor-will 
While the grave-faced owl, on the ruined old mill, 
Sat silently watching the shade. 

"The everlasting stars 

Beamed placidly and bright, 
As when my young trestle, and beams, and bars, 
Had vigor and strength, and defied the jars 
Of battering floods, and of laden cars, 

And the winds in their swooping might. 

"Then from the deep repose 

On high land and on low, 
A rustling sound on the air arose. 
Like a whirl of leaves when the north wind blows, 
Ere Autumn surrenders her brilliant-dyed clothes 

For a garment of frost and snow. 

"A scream, affrighted, shrill; 

A spring into thy tide; 
A moment's splashing, a brief time of ill; 
A futile effort to breathe, until 
The senses slept and the heart grew still 

In the breast of the suicide." 

No more the old bridge said. 

Nor time had it to say; 
The swollen swift tide, by a hundred streams fed. 
Tore braces and stanchions and beams shred by shred, 
And shook it and lifted it out of its bed, 

And ruthlessly swept it away. 



-^- 



WAVELETS. 

Sunny bathed ripples embracing the strand. 

Coming from whence the good Lord only knows, 
Maybe they've flowed from a far away land 

Where my own bonny lad sailoring goes; 
Sailoring goes for the wages he gets,. 

Slaving for siller to build us a nest — 
Plague take all partings that breed only frets, 

Cankering joy in a. fond lassie's._breast. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 
THE MOANING SEA. 

List to the moan of the angry sea 

As it beats on the rocky shore 
Like the sound of a pain born threnody. 

For the souls that have gone before. 

Oft when it comes in the night's soft sleep 

It awakens familiar fears, 
And we hide our heads in the sheets, to keep 

Out its hateful sound from our ears. 

When it is bleak, and the soughing wind 
In the chimney tops moan and sigh, 

Like penned up kine that are left behind 
When their younglings are driven by. 

Then we have fear of a coming gale, 

That endangers, the sea folk most, 
And the candles are shaded, that no strange sail 

May be tempted to seek the coast. 

Back on the shore by the grassless dunes, 
Side by side are the strangers' beds, 

And the brown stone slabs, with the simple runes. 
Tell the story above their heads. 

Three who were bearded and bronzed are there, 
With a youth, though a man in size. 

And a woman fair, with a wealth of hair. 
Are the flotsam the sea supplies. 

That is the reason I hate the sea. 

For it brings me thoughts which I dread 

When a brave, braw lad, who is all to me, 
To its wheedling embrace is led. 

Oh! it's a monster with jaws agape 

For all prey that will suit its maw; 
And the storm is a demon-bird, frightful of shape, 

That flies screeching to fill its craw. 

Oh! but it grins of a sunny day, 

Like a vixen with coaxing wiles; 
How it kisses the shore as it ebbs away, 

With its garish, cold ripples and smiles ! 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Under its glister and luring face 
It is false and as hard as stones, 

And the day scarce dies ere it twirls apace 
To its savage desires and moans. 



H- 

FLY BACK, O GRAY GULLS. 

Fly back to the ocean, O gray-coated gulls, 

To where you've just come from, and stay; 
Your whirl o'er the dunes ev'ry happy thought dulls 

Whenever my man is away; 
You bring me sore tidings that seaward afar 

The spleeny storm-king is awake, 
And maybe he'll thrash where the fishing boats are 

And scatter the shoals they might take. 

Fly back, birds; fly back! 

Turn back to the surges; I'll then know the gale 

Is only a whiff they can stand 
With bare poles, or under a double reefed sail. 

And leeway to keep her in hand; 
There's many a want to come out of his share 

Of fish, that's slued over the side; 
A wife and five bairnies is no little care 

For one pair of hands to provide. 

Turn back, gulls; turn back! 



THE EMIGRANT SHIP. 

She sailed away with the tide's return, 

Sailed out past the harbor bar, 
All taut and trim from her stem to stern. 

From keel to her topmost spar. 

Full many an eye bedimmed with tears 

Peered over the vessel's side. 
While mingled blessings, farewells and cheers 

Went after the "Sea King's Bride." 

Brothers and sisters and parents old, 
Husbands and children and wives, 

Five hundred souls on her decks all told, 
Five hundred precious lives. 



8 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

All bound away from their native land, 

From kindred and home ties, 
To seek for wealth on a foreign strand, 

Beneath the far western skies. 

The broad sails swelled with the rising wind, 
The yard arms creaked in strain; 

The foam of her track stretched far behind, 
Before spread the ruffled main. 

The long, low line of the sandy strand 

Grew dim to the watchers' view. 
And soon the white cliffs of the fading land 

Were wafted a last adieu. 

For three long weeks, in calm and storm, 

The good ship westward steered. 
And naught arose to awake alarm, 

But ev'ry soul was cheered. 

Full many a time at the Captain's boast: 

That never a ship at sea 
Could make the passage from port to coast 

So safe and so speedily. 

The night fell after a sultry day, 

The full round moon shone out 
And brightened the ocean for leagues away, 

Where porpoises rolled about; 

And many an hour, curtailed from sleep, 

The sea-farers passed that night, 
In watching the depths of the placid deep 

Reflecting the cloudless height. 

The morning broke and threatening clouds 
Loomed up on the starboard side; 

"Half Watch! aloft to the mizzen shrouds!" 
The tawny haired boatswain cried; 

And up the ropes, past the slim cross trees. 

High over the vessel's rails. 
The hardy tars, in the fitful breeze; 

Toiled briskly among the sails. 

The waves increased as the moments flew. 
The spray o'er the bulwark dashed. 

The wind to a steady storm gale grew. 
The lightning around her flashed 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Like fiery serpents forced from hell; 

While over the boiling sea 
Bolt upon bolt of thunder fell 

With fearful rapidity. 

Down dashed in gulfs of the wave-walled deep, 

With mountains before, behind; 
Upheaved on crests of the billows steep 

Like floss in an autumn wind; 

Louder and fiercer the hurricane 

Swept down on the straining ship, 
Which tossed and groaned like a thing in pain, 

In the storm fiend's fatal grip. 

"O God, have mercy!" arose the prayer 

From many a pallid lip, 
While closely clinging in wild despair 

In the hold of the trembling ship; 

While tender women and men most brave. 

Awaited, with bated breath, 
The storm's decrease, with its power to save, 

Or the pitiless wave of death. 

Crash! crash! the sound of a thousand guns 
Boomed down on the spar strewn deck; 

A moment more, and uncounted tons 
Of sea, which no skill could check. 

Rushed over her side, through breaches and seams, 

As the foremast snapped away, 
Then lurched and settled upon her beams. 

And a helpless wreck she lay. 

A helpless ship, with five hundred souls 

Three hundred leagues from home; 
A battered wreck which the mad sea rolls 

Like a shell, in its seething foam. 

Five hundred souls, while the tempest raves. 

And the trackless sea surrounds, 
Shall lie in its fathomless, skull walled caves. 

Till Gabriel's trumpet sounds. 



lo BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



SHIPWRECKED. 

Ship ahoy! A light flashed o'er the seething sea; 

A boat's unshipped from davits, double man'd; 
From flimsy raft and death's embraces free, 

Upon the deck, secure, the rescued stand. 
When helpless, prone upon life's swamping sea, 
May Faith be light, and Love our succor be! 



ON JUTTING ROCK POINT. 

The tangled weeds of the ocean's floor 

Lie all about on the rock-rib'd shore. 

And floating landward, all wet and brown. 

Are more, to stay when the tide goes down. 

They load the air with the bracing smell 
The sea breeze lifts from the foamy swell, 
And dashing over the boundary wall, 
The spoondrift sprinkles the watchers all. 

The lighthouse stands like a sentinel, 
Alert and lofty, and fit to repel 
The charging surges, that swish and roar 
And break away to make place for more. 

Its shining glasses reflect the glow 
The sun throws out in his journey low, 
And like sweet peace over turbulence, 
It gleams from its rock-raised eminence. 

O stanch ships out on the angry deep, 
That plunge and roll as your course you keep, 
There must be those on the land somewhere 
Who trail your wake with a saving pray'r. 

Perhaps the gulls, which are specks afar, 
May have their nests where the fond hearts are. 
And bear, somehow, to their homes the news 
That all is well with the hardy crews. 

Ere pale dawn follows the coming night 
Their bellied sails will be far from sight ; 
While others, battered by gales and swells, 
Sail in, hulls hampered with barnacles. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG ii 

In spring of youth, with hopes argosy 
A phantasm ship was sent out by me, 
All deeply laden with roseate schemes, 
Which ne'er returned from the sea of dreams. 

But like the weeds which the flood-tide brings, 
They're now to me but unvalued things, 
For loftier thoughts now crown the graves 
Of hopes which vanished beneath the waves. 



-^- 



SEA GULL ROCKS. 

Out in the bay, half a knot from the shore. 

Two high tapered monoliths rise. 
Where sea gulls in hundreds, at times many more. 

Alight when the storms shake the skies; 
The wildest waves dashing against either base 

Disturb not the flocks on the tops 
That calmly gaze out at the white waters race, 

Digesting the fish in their crops. 

There, it is told by a fisherman's wife, 

A sailor, just in from the sea. 
Went jealously crazy, and took his love's life, 

Escaped to the rocks and died free; 
And ever since then when the smacks, in the night. 

Sail in from the west, his mad face. 
Like phosphor-sea vapor shows plain to the sight, 

And off they tack from the dread place. 



H- 

THE SEA AND THE WIND. 

Said the sea" to the wind: Oh, I hate you, I do. 

For the way that you change, like a temper-mad shrew ; 

Now, to-day, you're as calm as the world-roof of blue, 

And to-morrow you'll howl, set me going. 
Saith the wind to the sea: All you say I admit, 
But it is not my fault, I can't help it a bit; 
Don't I flirt with you, please you betimes? Then why 
twit 

When you can't even rule your own flowing? 



12 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

GONE DOWN. 

The lights but serve to show 

The murky atmosphere, 
Which they penetrate with a feeble glow, 
For the fog is thick and hanging low. 

Too low for good, I fear. 

The tide will soon be full. 

The boats should soon be in. 
But the wind's alull and they'll have to pull 
With a hearty stroke at the oars and scull. 

If port to-night they'd win. 

The lads are brave and strong, 

All fear for them allay, 
For they know the bend of the coast along, 
And they'll anchor under old Neptune's Prong, 

If caught in the ebb away. 

"Ho, Pilot! what's the word? 

What tidings bring you, say?" 
"We can only tell what the trawlers roared: 
That a smack went down with all hands aboard. 

Last night, in the outward Bay." 



"Give up my boys, cold sea! 

Float in my boys, white waves! 
They're my only three that you hide from me, 
Then why so cruel, so pitiless be. 

Why hide my loves, my braves? 

"Oh, hear them moan and weep! 

O hear them pray and plead! 
O hear them calling, from tmder the deep, 
To be saved from the monsters that torture and keep 

Them bound in the slimy weed, 

"Cut loose my boys, white waves. 
Cast up my boys, cold sea, 
From the depths of your hidden and bone-built caves; 
Three beautiful darlings a fond mother craves, 
O give them all back to me!" 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 13 



THE FISHERMAN'S WIFE. 

Lullaby, darling, while out on the billow 
Thy father is toiling for mother and thee; 

O, lisp to the angels that watch o'er thy pillow. 
To guide him safe back from the wrath of the sea. 

The storm clouds are low'ring and darkness is spread- 
ing, 

The sea gulls are hastening in to the land; 
The angry white waves which we always are dreading, 

Are surging and moaning high up on the strand. 

God save my fisherman out on the ocean, 

And guide his frail craft through all dangers to-night; 

For helpless he'll be in the tempest's commotion. 
Unless in Thy mercy thou'lt steer him aright. 

Be Thou his compass when thunder is crashing; 

His help and his stay when the danger's most rife; 
His shield when the lightning around him is flashing; 

Oh! send him safe home to his baby and wife. 

Sleep on, my cherub, and dream not of danger. 
Thy mother will lovingly watch o'er thy rest, 

And pray that the ocean will spare us its ranger, 
And float him safe over its turbulent breast. 

Hark! 'tis the rumbling of thunder-peals shaking 
The door on its hinges, the ground 'neath our feet; 

God pity my fisher! laboriously making 

The wherewith to purchase the morsel we eat. 

Rain, wind and thunder and lightning together 
The reapers and toilers of seat must withstand, 

Must battle the waters in fair and foul weather, 
And leave anxious dear ones behind on the land. 

Sleep calmly, my darling, and mother will nimbly 
Alight up the window that looks on the sea, 

And set him a feast, and a fire in the chimney, 
To welcome him back to his baby and me. 



14 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

THE BAY OF NEW YORK. 

Beautiful Bay of New York! Is there to-day 
In all creation such a water-way? 
Is there a flood in any land that's fit 
To be considered as the peer of it? 

It surely seems that when the great divide 
Took place between the shores and running tide, 
Its depth and length and width were given birth 
To suit, in time, the favored ones of earth. 

Approaching from the ocean, one can look 
And see its preface in lone Sandy-Hook, 
Whose white spread strand is as a silver frame 
To some fair picture, ere the light-house flame, 

With magnifying lens, doth gleam and show 
To wary ships the deep, safe track to go, 
To reach an anchorage, yet far away 
Within the bosom of the welcoming Bay. 

Small islands dot the scene, on which there stands 
A refuge for contagious sick, from lands 
Beyond, where skill and science jointly wait 
To vanquish it ere entering our gate. 

As by the straight and narrow way men win 
Celestial entrance, so here must enter in 
The immigrant, by Nature's own behest. 
To the corona of the boundless West. 

For here the fertile lands on either side 
Press closer to the great Atlantic tide, 
And Staten Island beams across the space 
To where Long Island shows its beaming face. 

Qose by, three forts, like sleeping Strength, stand out 
To guasrd the Narrows and the sea without ; 
While 'neath the waves, by em'rald banks begirt, 
Grim war's machines lie slumbering and inert. 

And now the Bay magnificent is viewed, 
Eight miles by five, about, in oval crude. 
Where float the behomaths of hull and sail. 
With steam-sped giants, and crafts for ev'ry gale. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 15 



From ev'ry virile land, from time to time. 
Are strange flags floating o'er the tide sublime; 
From north and south, from east and west they come, 
With fleeing people to fair freedom's home. 

How beautiful the scene! though not more fair 
Than when brave Hudson, in September air, 
Three centuries agone, in night's full noon. 
Sailed on its breast in his stanch ship, Half Moon. 

Then virgin forests cast their shadows down 
Where now are seen the symbols of the town; 
Then the wild tenants of the woodlands strayed 
On nature's unturned soil, all unafraid. 

Then roamed the Indian tribes on taxless land, 
Where now the wealthy, crowded islands stand; 
And there, from tepee, bank and shore they gazed 
On white-skinned, bearded strangers, all amazed. 

Where now the Iroquois and brave Mohawks? 
Where now the tepees in the forest walks ? 
Where now the birch canoes that skimmed thy breast? 
Where now the braves in paint and flank-clouts 
dressed? 

Where sounds the war-cry, and the spirit-dance? 
The incantations, and the wild, wierd glance? 
Where now the bison, moose, the grizzly, panther, 

deer. 
Which trod the hills now mansion'd far and near? 

All, all have vanished like a morning mist. 
By south-winds scattered, or by sunbeams 'kiss'd ; 
While thou, great Bay, flow on from day to day, 
The twin of Time, defier of decay! 



-Jf- 



HIGH TIDE. 

A thick, gray mist arises from the sea. 

Like breathings from a drove of driven steers 

In frosty weather; and, rising silently, 

The water, inch by inch, the high mark nears ; 

The midget hamlet's bare of all its men. 

For they sailed out last night to herring run. 

And if the flood should pass the mark, why, 'then 

The few small-living huts would be undone. 



i6 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

The women come and go upon the banks. 

To see how soon their chattels shall be moved; 

The tide has ceased to rise, and heartfelt thanks 

From each are said aloud, with sea-slang grooved; 

The fog disperses like a monstrous ghost 

The vision fashions in a broken sleep; 

The light-house lamps are glowing dov/n the coast, 

And all is peaceful o'er the ebbing deep. 

H- 



THE SURGING SEA. 

Down by the surging sea. 

When Summer time was young, 

I heard the voice of the white cap'd waves 

And this is the song they sung: 

"Born of the restless sea. 
We roam the five oceans round, 
Uncounted leagues of a course have we, 
And the land is our only bound. 

"Fretful when gales arise. 
We snort in the tempest's face, 
And seething in rage, raise our feathery plumes 
In the heat of the maddening race; 
Hapless the ships that float 
In the track of our diresome frown, 
We wrestle their puny beams and gloat 
On our prey as we roll. them down. 

"Far in the silent North, 
Where bleakness ever reigns, 
We lash the shores where the walrus roars 
By the trembling glacial plains ; 
Past frozen fields and mounts 
Resistlessly we roll, 

And join the tide of unnumbered founts 
That mingle around the Pole. 

"Beneath the Tropic skies, 
By fair and fertile lands, 
We sweep along in a restless throng 
O'er coral reefs and strands; 
Born of the restless sea 
We rise to the tempest's sound; 
Three-fourths of the world's wide track have we. 
In which to career around." 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 
A SEA STORM. 

"Swish-swash, swish-swash, swish-swash," 
Sound down the shingled strand, 
As rank by rank the angry sea 
Rides in like war-plumed cavalry, 
When waiting foe's at hand. 

They rise in stirrups high. 
With clutch on sabre-hilt, 
They canter, gallop, fiercely strike 
The steady shore line. Titan like. 
And break in joust and tilt. 

Afar upon the sea, 
Beyond the dipping sk3% 
Where oft the giant albatross 
And carrion-seeking fulmar cross, 
The storm is raging high. 

And there wind-driven ships 
And steamers, 'neath strained poles. 
Are tossed about by mountain swells 
As though they were mere scallop-shells, 
Which some safe inlet rolls. 

With threat'ning rack above. 
Below, the mad sea's frown. 
Who sail to-night the vicious deep 
Have little thought or wash for sleep — 
Pray Heaven they ride it down. 

And bear them speedily 

O'er normal surging swells ; 

For thou, O serf of w^ind set free 

From boreal space, must tranquil be 

When calm thy raging quells. 



STORM BOUND. 

Out in the offing are many ships 
That are waiting to leave the ba^^ 

But a furious storm the mad water whips. 
While at anchor they toss and sway; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Storm signals are flapping the coast along, 
To warn the mariners it were wrong 

To risk their vessels, however strong, 
Till the gale shall break away. 

The captains worry, the owners fret 

For the losses they must endure. 
And the sailor men to their labor set 

With no cares, for their wage is sure; 
The hulls are tugging to break the chains. 

The yard-arms creak, as in hurricanes. 
The haUiards moan with their rope-nerved strains, 

That a calm alone can cure. 

My mind's in a storm that's hard of grips 

And it struggles to be set free. 
While its plaint is like to the straining ships 

That are anchor bound on the sea. 
The calm may come in a little while, 

The sails will spread for some distant isle; 
Pray heaven the day may bring its smile. 

With its longed-for peace to me. 



THE SEA KING'S RIDE. 

Old Neptune's temper wakes again. 

The reins are in his grip. 
His white steeds strain with might and main 

At crack of wind-lashed whip ; 
With foam-flecked nostrils, steaming hides. 

And hoof-beats toward in-shore, 
They snort and plunge with rageful strides 

Till he can drive no more. 



^ 

ON THE BRETON COAST. 

Three children, brown as a light tea-steep, 
A sandy beach and a sea asleep; 
A fishing trawler hauled high and dry, 
With jib-boom straight in the east wind's eye; 
A pitch-pot smoking on blazing brands 
And sailors swabbing with busy hands — 
When hulls need patching there's call for haste. 
For flowing tides leave no time to waste. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 19 



A triad of women, with unpinched toes 

All bare of sabots, and short, coarse clothes, 

Wade in with skeps filled with shell-fish, weeds, 

Their daily rake when the tide recedes ; 

Their wind-roughed faces, 'neath kerchief caps, 

And shallooned busts, crossed with basket straps, 

Are spied by youngsters upon the beach, 

Who race for cockles, they beg from each. 

The zig-zag path up the shaly hill — 

Memoriams of those forcA^er still 

Beneath the sea, which they dragged for food — 

Is marked three times with a holy rood; 

And there the women, devoutly crossed, 

A pater-noster pray for the lost; 

For souls that die with their sins unshriven, 

Are loosed by prayer, they say, and forgiven. 

A fog on the loomgale landward flies, 
And in its shackles the twilight dies; 
Anon the lamps near the panes gleam bright 
From cot to cot, for those out at night ; 
The cabaret, flanked by lime-daubed rooms, 
Is rank with smoke and stale fishy fumes. 
And at the tables sour red-wine flows 
Till night grows old and the last guest goes. 

The morning wakes like a child refreshed, 
That peevishly sobbed itself to rest; 
And as it's blessed San Petro's day. 
The pious folk don their best array 
To hear the mass, and Le Bon Dieu plead 
For all the good that their spirits need; 
To save their men from the ocean's threats 
And flush the herrings to fill their nets. 

A holy day's a half holiday 

When service is past, so all folk may 

Give vent to innocent heart desires. 

Without the fear of eternal fires. 

Warm hearted they are through all their days. 

They love their land and God's house always, 

And births and marriages, deaths and gales 

Are calendars for their simple tales. 



20 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

WAITING. 

He left the Cove and passed the Point at flood of early 
morning, 
With sails unreefed and bellying, with pennant stream- 
ing free ; 
The wind was playing merrily, with not a hint of warning, 
As out unto the billows' snowy breasts he went from me. 

Oh, many years I've waited, watched and waited his 
returning. 
And many, many times I've questioned captains, mates 
and men^ 
And many times they've told me he'll sail in, with head- 
light burning. 
Some lucky, misty morning — but they cannot tell me 
when. 



.^. 



MY SAILOR BOY. 

My sailor boy on the ocean sails 
And braves the anger of waves and gales. 
And climbs the shrouds with a fearless nerve- 
Where duty calls he's there to serve. 

His eyes are bright with the fire of youth, 
His lips unsoiled by a foul untruth. 
His love's as deep as the soundless sea — 
I know my boy will come back to me. 

Was maiden ever more blessed than I 
With love so pure 'neath the boundless sky? 
Was maiden ever so full of joy, 
So full of love for her sailor boy? 

At night my thoughts are far on the deep, 
My prayers ascend, ere I fall to sleep, 
To Him who ruleth the wind and wave. 
To save my boy from an ocean grave. 

They say a sailor is seldom true, 
His love's forgot when amid his crew, 
But I well know that my love will be 
The same true heart on the land or sea ! 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 21 



At evening' hour I sit on the beach 
And gaze as far as my eyes can reach, 
And lave my hands in the flowing tide, 
That soon will carry him to my side. 

I watch the waves as they tumble in, 
And in the loom of my thoughts I spin 
A pleasant dream of a coming day, 
When never more he will sail away. 

I see in the spray of the spumy tide 
The feathers and veil of a happy bride. 
And in the ships that at anchor lie, 
The peaceful days of the by and by. 

And as I sit, in my idle dream, 
And watch on the waves the sun's last gleam, 
I hope that the morrow will bring it again, 
And with it my sailor boy over the main. 

H- 

OUTWARD BOUND. 

"O, heave her with a will," the cheery sailors sing 

When winding up the anchor of the "Santie," 
The windlass squeaks its fill, as round it goes in ring. 
To voices spliced together in a chanty : 
"Yo ho, yo ho, yo ho-o. 
Raise her sure and slow; 
Link by link she's comin' 
From the mud ; 
Sing, my hearties, sing. 
Soon the flukes will swing, 
Then she'll take to hummin' 
Through the flood." 

There's my bonnie laddie a-fendering the bow; 

He's mate, and soon expects to be a skipper; 
Good-by, good luck, God speed ! he's waving to us now ; 
Pray Heaven no storm may sink, or strain, or strip her. 
And when the brig comes back. 
He'll find there's one not slack 
In welcoming her lover 
When he lands ; 



22 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

For then, we have agreed 
To hurry things with speed, 
And call the parson over, 
For the bans. 

^ 



BY THE SEA. 

Side by side and hand in hand 
We strolled along the sea-soaked sand; 
Each long-drawn wave, with foamy crest, 
Rolled up the beach in wild unrest. 

And where the far horizon dipped 
Its crimson skirt into the tide, 
The waning day-gods lustre tipped 
The ambient sky, extending wide. 

Of diverse forms and varied sheen, 
The light clouds moved athwart the scene, 
And filled j^our mind with pure delight 
While gazing on the beauteous sight. 

Vast depths and hills like drifted snow. 
With ships upon an aerial sea, 
Then closely following in tow 
Were knights in armor, cap-a-pie. 

A hooded nun it might have been 
That hovered o'er a deep ravine, 
Then floated down a dark descent. 
As if on mercy's errand bent. 

But you, who, standing by my side, 
Thought not of nuns, but broken vows, 
Said 'twas some pale, forsaken bride, 
In search of her unfaithful spouse. 

Above the broad horizon line 
The evening sun hath ceased to shine. 
But, like good deeds of humankind 
From earth departed, left behind 

Is yet the memory of the good 

In fellow minds and hearts enshrined — 

So, in the Occident a flood 

Of beauty filled the throne resigned. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 23 

And streak on streak, irregular, 

Of blue and amber spread afar, 

And white and crimson fringed with green, 

Lit up the brilliant sunset scene. 

Anon the darksome shades prevailed. 
And dimmer grew the surging tide, 
As night behind the shadows trailed, 
While yet we loitered side by side. 



THE OCEAN. 

O thou, great, mighty, everlasting sea. 

Forever active e'en when most at peace, 
Like Time, forerunner of Eternity, 

Thy restless motion knoweth not surcease; 
All things wax old, but thou'rt forever young, 

Thy power and freshness last while all else dies ; 
Before the satellites in void were hung 

Thy depths existed 'neath the lightless skies. 

Thy surface saw the primal eve-like beams 

The firmament cast down upon thy breast; 
The sun and moon and stars, in brilliant streams 

Thereafter, gleamed on life, thy bosom pressed ; 
And so to-day, as in the genesis 

Of Time, ere earth divorced was from thy flood. 
Thy currents flow e'en in thy dark abyss, 

To God's great glory and His people's good. 

K- 



OUT AT SEA. 

A parting glimpse at the fading land — 
A long white streak as if glist'ning sand, 
A light-house high o'er a long-stretched strand 

Is all that fills the view ; 
A soulful prayer to the lips arise 
For friends and loved ones with tear-stained eyes, 
Whose thoughts will follow to other skies ; 

Dear hearts, dear land, adieu! 



24 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Adieu ! adieu for a little while ; 
No other land can my heart beguile, 
No other sky shall it reconcile, 

Whate'er its glamour be; 
What change of scene and mild air may bring 
God only knows ; but recovering, 
As dove to Ararat's Ark, I'd wing 

My way o'er floods to thee ! 

The darkness deepens and one by one 
The stars look down, like diamonds on 
A black-blue setting when light has gone, 

And glint as through a haze; 
The lamps to starboard and port are set 
To warn the incoming vessels met, 
Their red and green dimmed with spumy fret 

That prow and head-winds raise. 

Far out we sail on the ocean, tossed 
As though in a flooded desert lost, 
'Mid surges topped as with heavy frost. 

Which round the fleet ship play; 
The great white moon is ascending through 
The black, thick clouds that the east bestrew, 
And over the deep its silver hue 

Shines far and far away. 

The funnels vomit red flame and screed 
When waist-bare stokers the great fires feed, 
And through the waves with increasing speed 

The stanch ship cuts the brine ; 
The rope-blocks rattle, the cordage squeaks 
As through the rigging a half gale shrieks, 
And on the davits each life-boat creaks 

When keels swing out of line. 

The main salon, all ablaz-e with lights, 
The voyagers crowd, and sakes, what sights ! 
But few dare boast of the sea's delights 

In presence of mat de mer; 
To rooms some vanish with visage pale. 
Some wabble to clutch the lee side rail. 
While others their turbulent stomachs bail ; 

Oh, sea, thou leveler ! 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 25 



There may be sundry bare-bleached bones now, 
That carried a purse-proud haughty brow, 
Beneath the keelson and plunging bow, 

With those of cancered fame, 
Who lived the lives that roguery brings. 
Or baffled the hangman's scaffoldings. 
Or, worst of all, the vampirish things 

That thrived on woman's shame. 

Eight bells have struck on the fo'castle head, 
And past the cabin the sailors tread 
As port-watch changes, and off to bed 

That waits for work tired bones; 
While here one lies in a narrow berth 
With scarce the width of a body's girth, 
And rolling, longs for the good old earth, 

Away from sea-sick groans. 

The morning smiles with a glorious light, 
And near to view, in their flocky flight. 
We, chickens of Mother Gary sight, 

Afar from any land. 
And wonder how they weathered the gale 
That tossed the ship and tattered its sail; 
Shall they return to their nests — or fail? 

They, we, are in His hand! 

We hear the swabbing along the deck, 
The screw-blades churning without a check, 
And see to windward a smoking speck 

Speed slowly, far away; 
We meet the invalids of the night 
At early table^ with features bright, 
Who smile, at hearing the Captain slight 

Our storm, as zephyrs play. 

The sunglade flushes the rippling sea 
Like pleasure after night's misery; 
The salty tang of its breath to me 

Sets veins and nerves a-dance ; 
It drives the sluggishness from the blood. 
It wakens thoughts that are bright and good, 
And Hope comes rolling in like a flood 

As on we steer for France. 



2(i BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

THE SEA WIND. 

When Winter's breath congeals the springs, 

And on the sea-shore spray enchains, - 
The wassail song the in-gale sings, 

Sounds mournful as funereal strains 
To those whose loved ones 'neath the waves 

Toss in the restless ebb and flow. 
Whose poor worn bones shall ne'er find graves 

Where God's sweet flowers and grasses grow. 



5f 

THE BELL BUOY. 

What a tranquil and beautiful sight, 

When the elements all are at peace^ 
Is the ocean, all shimmering bright 

In the spread of the moon's silver fleece; 
While no sounds but the tide's rippling laps 

On the shingle, to list'ning ears come, 
There is naught to bring thought of mishaps. 

For the bell in the buoy-rack is dumb. 

There are glimmering stars looking down 

Through the depths of the ether on high; 
There are ships 'cross the bar, showing brown 

On the white crinkled sea, where they lie 
While they quietly wait for the wind 

To drive seaward their freight-weighted keels ; 
Like the buoy's silent bell, they are pinned 

Till Aeolus his power reveals. 

Then the rollers rush in from the sea, 

Or the ground-swells stretch smoothly and low ; 
Then the wind from the wastes whistles free. 

Like a thing that knows not where to go; 
Then the chain-prisoned home of the bell 

On the bank, sways with every roll, 
And it's ding-dong fails never to tell 

Of the danger that lurks on the shoal. 

In the dead of the night, when the brain 
Skims the margin of dreamland, it tolls 

Like a requiem's montone strain 
For a sea-engulfed legion of souls; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS O F SONG 27 

But when morning's smile flushes the flood. 
When no hull 's on the shoal to ahoy. 

All the shore-line partakes of its mood. 
Which is voiced by the bell in the buoy. 



A SAILOR'S YARN. 

Come all me hearty deep sea men 
An' listen t' me lay. 
About a rakin' tidy bark 
An' them that sailed away; 
I'll tell ye of a husky crew 
That shipped before "the mast, 
An' made the skipper fly the rag 
Before three days went past. 

'Twas on a Friday mornin' fair, 
The ragtail o' the year. 
The "Bouncin' Kate" her moorin' slipt 
And south b' west did steer; 
The skipper piped the watches out, 
The mate he got the port, 
An' hoofy Nick slipt in with it. 
An' mixed up with his sort. 

The bark she was as light o' foot 

As ever skimmed the sea; 

Her canvas wings filled beautiful 

An' easy as could be ; 

She took the helm in bully style 

On risin' swell an' fall; 

The bo's'n ups and says, says he, 

"The wheel's no trick at all." 

'Twas on the devil's watch that all 

The jamboree began, 

When split-lip Jim he jabs his knife 

Right in the black cook Dan; 

Then flat-nose Bill he sidles up 

An' then he waltzes in, 

An' lays three fellers on the deck 

With a belayin' pin. 



28 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



The starboard watch jumps from their bunks 

An' grabs the capstan bars, 

An' sails right in to join the fun, 

An' made three more see stars ; 

The mate he draws his barkin' pop 

An' plugs black Joe with lead, 

Just then the carpenter hops 'round 

An' slugs him on the head. 

The skipper he skips round for fair 

An' stops the red quadrille, 

When three stood right side up on deck 

An' nine wus lyin' still; 

Out o' the nine wus four cracked nuts. 

An' two had splintered bones, 

An' three wus chucked down in the hearse 

Of hungry Davy Jones. 

An' then the ole man bellers out : 
"Turn in an' clear the decks^ — 
Jump quick, ye high sea mutineers, 
To save yer bloody necks ; 
Divide up even, starboard, port, 
An' work both watches well — 
I'll sail my ship with hands what's left 
Or drive her straight to hell"! 



The bo's'n grabs the rudder wheel. 
An' I hauls ropes an' thunk; 
The skipper he gets guzzlin' rum 
Down in his bunk, mad drunk; 
Six hands wus for'ard nearly dead, 
An' three wus in the sharks, 
An' two wus left t' work an' sail 
The dandiest o' barks. 

Two days an' nights we worked the ship 

Before a favorin' blast, 

An' then the bo's'n says, says he : 

I'll hitch the rudder fast. 

An' take a snooze, though ev'ry craft 

What sails the ocean round. 

Should down to Davy's locker dive, 

Or somewheres runs aground." 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 29 



I then says to meself, says I, 

Now that I'm skipper here. 

An' mate an' bo's'n, cook an' crew, 

This craft for home I'll steer; 

I pointed her due nor' b' east, 

An' blocked her so she'd keep, 

Then filled me chest with galley grub 

An' down I lies t' sleep. 



An' then the first thing what I knows 

I hears me name sung out; 

I looks aloft, I looks alow, 

An' everywheres about ; 

An' then I hears the call agin' 

Hail from the win'ard side. 

An' there I sees a measly shark, 

An' Slob, me pal, astride. 

"Cast out a line ye spawn o' land, 

An' slip a runnin' noose; 

You chuck it so it gets me straight. 

Or this dam' beast I'll lose." 

I heaves a line an' draws it taut 

Right under Slobby's neck, 

An' hauls me pal an' that ere shark 

All right side up on deck. 

"Ye son o' Judas," Slobby howls, 

"Ye can't get loose from me; 

I rid ye like a jockey boy 

All round this bloomin' sea; 

Ye thought me meat for yer red craw, 

Like two ye gobbled quick, 

But I wus onter yer ole game 

With Yankee Doodle's trick." 

He plugs his knife, all careful like, 

In the man-eater's skin. 

An' rips him down the belly line 

To where his fins begin ; 

Then out kicks Dan the cook, an' Joe, 

An' prances round like mad. 

Their wounds all healed, tho' sharkey's guts 

Wus all the salve they had. 



30 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



The skipper then just staggers up 

An spies them as wus dead, 

An' yells like wild, an' paws the air. 

His eyes bulge in his head ; 

He stares right at the ripped-up shark 

An' gasps — "get back," he roared, 

An' lurches t' the stern post rail, 

An' dives right overboard. 

Black Dan, the cook, steps for'ard then, 

T' help the crippled men; 

His hands an' face wus smeared with blood, 

As f rum a slaughter-pen ; 

A wail burst out t' scare the yards ; 

Dan rushed back, dead almost, 

While fellers in the f o's'l yelled : 

"A ghost, the niggar's ghost !" 

Then Slob an' Joe, an' Dan the cook, 

Just ups an' says t' me : 

"We makes you Cap' o' this 'ere ship, 

An' we the crew o' three." 

So on we sails due nor' b' east 

Instead o' sou' b' west. 

An' in five days snug in her berth 

The "Bouncin' Kate" got rest. 

So all ye honest Jackie boys, 

Take warnin' what I say : 

Don't never ship on no blamed craft 

When Friday's sailin' day, 

Or sure as tar ye'll have bad luck 

In grub, watch, storms or squalls, 

Or in yer food-box get a jab, 

When mixed in drunken brawls. 



-* 



BEFORE THE MAST. 

The deep salt sea is the life for me 

With a stanch craft underfoot. 

With the wind for steam and a width of beam, 

And a prow of a clipper cut; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIG OF SONG 31 

A three-mast rig, or a full deck brig 
That is fitted to round Cape Horn, 
A far-land skip' and a two year trip, 
And I'm there as sure's you're born. 

Enough to eat of tack, dufif, salt meat. 
Or a slush stew, if grub runs bare, 
A plug of weed for the cuddy's need. 
With a starboard and port watch fair; 
A full half gale swellin' every sail. 
Or a screecher from a straight abaft, 
With a roarin' sea — that'll just suit me. 
Or I'm but a land-crab. daft. 



^ 



A SHIPMATE'S SERMON. 

"Who are we, that we should expect 
Our petty lives to pass unflect 
By things unpleasant? Recollect, 
No sensate life's immune 
From that which makes it ache and squirm; 
All have to take and serve their turn 
Of ill, down to the wriggling worm, 
Though it come late or soon." 

"Sometimes we think, or hear it said, 
'When joy's departed, hope is fled, 
I would indeed that I were dead. 
Then good-bye care and pain.' 
Poor whining mortals that we are, 
The butt of grief or smarting jar, 
Though we had ne'er a thing to mar 
Our living, we'd complain!" 

"Job's patience finds no parallel 
In all dead time, and it were well, 
Or friends, as did his wife, would yell, 
Thou fool, 'Curse God and die.' 
No, no; we're given strength to bear 
Life's major troubles, 'tis the share 
Of minor ones our minds impair. 
And those we magnify. 



2,2 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

"Think ye, the living Son of God, 
Felt not the smartings of the rod 
To utmost end, in ways He trod, 
Because He was God's son? 
I tell you, yea; for you and me, 
For all who lived, live, shall live. He 
Was bowed in grief, pain, patiently, 
Till all His work was done. 

"And now when we have that in view, 
A compass on life's voyage through, 
A stanch craft when the storm-gales strew 
The wastes with battered wrack; 
Look up, keep heart, we'll soon see land; 
Though dark as pitch. He's in command; 
Let patience keep ye well in hand. 
We're on the homeward track.'' 

He shipped with us at Callao, 

A true-blue sailor laddie O, 

Who made us love him, yes or no, 

With yarns and clenched fists, too; 

Alow, aloft, on watch, in bunk. 

In storm, in calm, he proved his spunk; 

Sung like a lark, preached like a monk 

And bossed the growling crew. 



-^- 



STRANDED. 

All high and dry upon the shore, 
With sheathing shrinking day by day. 

The battered frame is fit no more 
With any tide to sail away. 

He ploughed the paths of every sea 
On which the hollow sky looks down. 

He faced the soft winds cheerily 

And never feared the tempest's frown. 

His hull sinks deeper in the sand 
Of ruthless Time, from aft to fore; 

The Wrecker soon will be on hand 
To clear the hulk from off the shore. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 33 

A HALF GALE. 

The storm increased, the surges roared, 

The bark ploughed through the foam 
With reefed-sails full, all taut aboard, 

Upon the voyage home; 
The steersman, while she bore the shocks 

Of Nature's stormy force, 
Kept eyes on sails and compass-box 

And held the charted course. 

Would that, on life's inconstant sea, 

When Passion storms and raves, 
Our spirit-rafts as steadfastly 

Would breast its seething waves; 
And like the needle to the Pole^ 

Make Will and Act prove true, 
To keep the rudder in control 

Until the danger's through. 



POOR MARY. 

Upon a rugged, wind-swept cliff. 

The ocean spreading far away. 
Where summer breathes its salty whifif 

And Winter hurls its icy spray, 
A mid age maid, the hamlet's care, 

Walks morn by morn, in calms and gales, 
And dreamily peers out to where 

Incoming ships first show their sails. 

'Twas long ago the fell change came 

In which her mind had lost its grip; 
A father, brother, and her flame 

Went down, and all in the same ship; 
She speaks not of the woeful years. 

Nor of the loss, the hopes long dead, 
But in her eyes love's spark appears 

When gazing out from the cliffs' head. 



POEMS OF LOVE 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG zi 



ROSES. 

A rose she took from out her hair, 

Her wavy hair, bewitching tossed, 
And pinned it on my breast, to wear 

In lieu of the first dance I'd lost; 
I took her in my circling arms, 

And saw at once two roses grow 
Upon her cheeks, like crimson charms— 

And that was forty years ago. 

I snipped two roses, set their stems 

Within her fluffy, snow-white hair; 
Her eyes grew bright as brilliant gems. 

Her face lost ev'ry trace of care; 
She clasped her arms around my neck 

And pearly tears began to flow; 
I kissed them off to the last speck — 

And that was half an hour ago. 



LOVE. 

A feeling that obsesses one, 
A burden that oppresses one. 
A tyrant that distresses one 
When not returned by t'other. 

A captive that entrances one, 
A rapture that enhances one, 
A passion one takes chances on 
With all but one's own mother. 

'Tush, tush !" said the deciding one, 
"You're truly a deriding one; 
Leal love's a chanceless, biding one, 
A loyal, sweet, confiding one; 
But soon may prove a chiding one 
Unless such stuff you'll smother." 

^ 



BRING HER TO YOUR NEST. 

When the bloom was on the bushes 
And the throstle whistled clear. 
When the zephyrs fanned the blushes 
Of the day. 



38 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Then I sauntered down the valley, 
In the noon-time of the year, 
When in dingle and in alley 
All was gay. 

All the happy birds were singing 

On the boughs along the way, 

And the early blooms were springing 

Round my feet; 
There was not a pretty creature 
Of the woody ways so gay. 
As I tripped along to reach her 

Whom I'd meet. 

There was joy in merely living. 
There was bliss in Nature's law; 
Upward to the Source of giving 

Soared my prayer; 
And the rosy, radiant splendor 
Of the vision that I saw. 
Seemed but fitting to attend her 
Everywhere. 

Soon the vision, born of longing. 
Stood before my gladsome sight, 
'Mid a flock of chickens thronging 

Round the while; 
As she fed each cackling greedy 
From her apron, left and right, 
I was just as greedy, needy 
For her smile. 

When a lover seeks his beauty, 

It is only fair that he 

Should perform a fond heart's duty, 

Fair and square; 
So a dose of garden weeding 
On a pliant, willing knee, 
Brought confession of my needing. 

Kneeling there. 

Then the roses she was tying 
Loaned her cheeks their pretty dyes, 
And the minor beauties, prying. 

Saw the rest; 
And a watchful little singer 
Raised his glad voice to the skies. 
As if saying, "ring her, bring her 

To your nest." 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 39 

UNDER THE APPLE BLOSSOMS. 

Under the fragrant blooms in smiling May, 
Never such beauty nor such a sweet day; 
Think not of month nor blooms falling a-twirl, 
See but a happy boy and a sweet girl. 
What to them blossom boughs, fragrance or skies? 
With the sly cupid's wiles blinding their eyes! 
Over them living blooms, under them dead; 
Soft zephyrs fanning them know what was said. 



BY THE OPEN FIRE. 

A witchery's in the chestnut logs 
When blazing on the chimney dogs; 
For oft, when sitting in their flare 
On rainy nights, or wintry air, 
They're eloquent in sparkling words, 
Of fragrant odors, chattering birds. 
That filled the woods in which they grew 
When kind fate crowned my life with you. 



■^- 



KATHLEEN ASTHORE. 

(A lover's rhapsody.) 

Oh, Kathleen asthore, it is you I'm adorin', 

Though never a bit of me knows why I do; 
You're cold as a snow-drift, and hard as a core in 

A rosy-cheeked apple that's shinin' with dew; 
There's hardly an hour in the day I'm not findin' 

My bothersome mind flyin' out to your place, 
And how can I blame it if me it's not mindin' 

When tempted to bask in the sun of your face? 

I see in your brown eyes the dawn of the mornin' 
When through the lone green ways I trudge to my 
plow, 
And ev'ry nice flower that my way is adornin' 

It foolishly pictures you to me somehow; 
And then when the lark takes his flight to the white 
skies 



40 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

And fills all the way with that love-lilt of his, 
I'm thrilled with his song, for I think that your bright 
eyes 
Are seekin', like mine, for the cloud where he is. 

A feast for a whole week I get from my station 

On Sundays, at chapel, before mass begins; 
I spy out your bonnet in the congregation — 

God pardon my thinkin' of you, not my sins! 
And then when to holy communion you're goin' 

It's not for myself I am prayin' at all, 
But that all the blessin's the good Lord's bestowin' 

May keep you for ever from trouble and gall. 

But meager's the harvest of this f addle-fiddle; 

The seed must be planted before it can grow; 
The corn must be ground and wet-mixed for the 
griddle; 

The turf must be kindled for bakin' the dough; 
And love must be sought, or like coal without tinder 

It never gives warmth till the flame we apply. 
So faint heart may wither or burn to a cinder 

While somebody wants it — I'll tell her or die! 



^- 



A BACHELOR'S SOLILOQUY. 

By Jove! he's hooked, secured at last, 

He who's been fished for day and night 
For many moons; and now a cast 

Has pierced his wary gills all right. 
Let's see again the wedding-card — 

The deuce! I might have known 'twas she, 
The titian-tressed, the drama-starred. 

Fair self-adoring divorcee. 

Well, well! dear boy I prize your note; 

I'd love to be best man, all that; 
But on that day I'll be afloat 

And speed the "Sylph" toward Barnegat. 
And then, who knows, your fiancee 

Might not be pleased to see me shine; 
A mote on such a gala day 

Grows beam-like to eyes feminine. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 41 

You think it was sheer accident 

That hurled her lover to his death; 
Of course it lacked the dire intent, 

And yet I'd swear with my last breath 
She, siren, temptress, what you will, 

Provoked him to the dreadful deed; 
Dear God! I see him battered still 

Upon the rocks and salty weed. 

The waves were swashing farther down 

Between the boulders, which I'd reached; 
She, forty feet above, with gown 

And hair wind-tossed, screamed and beseeched 
My slipping feet to hurry; soon 

With trembling hands, which great frights make, 
I tugged, hoped, prayed 'twas but a swoon; 

It was — from which he could not wake. 

And then, as if to cap it all, 

The evening after all could see 
The heartless jade dance out the ball 

In her man-catching finery. 
Pah! that's the brand of wife she'll prove! 

Dear boy, you're forging grief, I know; 
Some marriages are made above. 

Yours, much I fear, was hatched below. 

How often in our callow days 

The theme, "sweet girls" tripped off your tongue; 
Their smooth white skins, their gentle ways, 

Their virtues — naught was left unsung; 
While I, who played the silent part 

In all discussions of the kind. 
Was dubbed "the milk-white frozen heart" 

Where love a lodgment could not find. 

Perhaps the cynic's mind is mine; 

Mayhap the frozen heart is^ too; 
Must one in love hang out a sign, 

As ochre-daubed wild bushmen do ? 
Must hearts be stripped before the crowd, 

That they may diagnose their bent 
To give affection, be allowed 

To win their counterpart's consent? 



42 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Oh, gentle soul! where'er you be 

In yonder space beyond this sphere, 
The one you loved you now may see 

As true as when we parted here; 
No other ear has heard me say 

One syllable in wooing tone, 
No other lips have swept away 

The long, last pressure of your own. 

And what's the guerdon of it all? 

Joy's memories with tears o'ercast; 
A noon of light, a sombre pall. 

Which down the dreary years must last; 
Its one true healing balm is this: 

That sometime, somewhere, led aright. 
We'll find the resurrected bliss 

We lost erstwhile — blest soul, good night. 



WILLIE'S WOE. 

I thought of it when 'wakened by the milkman's whoop 
and yellin', 
Before our Lena knocks and says the time t' dress is 
come, 
And still I lies a-thinkin' an' it wouldn't stop a-tellin' 
Of what wus come between us, an' the hurt wus 
painin' some. 

I thought of it at recess, with the play-ground sizzlin' 
glazes, 
An' M'-hen the first grade freshie bangs me round t' 
walk the skid; 
I tries how hard me knuckles wus, while gettin' mad's 
blazes 
A-thinkin' o' the lickin' comin' t' that red-head kid. 

I thought of it at evenin' when the light wus growing 
hazy, 
While on her stoop, what's next ours, she wus study- 
in' fur school. 
When fur a wink frum her big eyes me mind wus 
gettin' crazy, 
I calls out: "Say, is red-head IT?" she calls back 
"Nein, you fool." 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 43 

A MAIDEN'S SOLILOQUY. 

I wonder if he loves me? 

I'd give the world to know 
If what he said the other night 

Is true and really so; 
He vowed that I was pretty 

And looked extremely well; 
I wonder if he meant it? 

I wish that I could tell. 

I wonder if he meant it 

Or did it for a lark? 
When going home, to dim the light. 

And kiss me in the dark; 
I never can get angry. 

He's such an awful quiz, 
And then he comes so often — 

I don't know how it is. 

I wonder if he meant it? 

The saucy, endless tease, 
To wind his arm around my waist 

And give me such a squeeze; 
I'm sure he thinks I love him, 

Because I don't refuse 
To please and entertain him 

Whenever he may choose. 

I really think he loves me! 

For, just before he went. 
He kissed me — not against my will. 

And said 'twas only lent; 
To-morrow night he's coming, 

To tease me just the same. 
So, as I can't prevent him, 

I'm not the one to blame. 



■*- 



THE CROWN OF ALL. 

Boast not about your palaces 
And millionaire-planned homes, 

With priceless canvases, and shelves 
Stacked high with precious tomes; 



44 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

There is not one in all the land — 

I'll pledge a bit on that — 
That holds within its door more joy 

Than our top-story flat. 

It is not that the rooms are large, 

O, no; they're small indeed; 
But my, O my! they fairly sprout 

With what we really need; 
And best of all, we're out of debt 

For things bought for our suite. 
And now the firm's installment-man 

Ne'er calls when in our street. 

'Tis wonderful what can be done 

When love is at the wheel; 
How easily it sails along 

Upon an even keel; 
It spies the snags that float around. 

Evades the troublous rocks. 
And if it scrapes in shallow streams 

'Tis void of serious shocks. 

'Tis Argus-eyed, for looming clouds. 

E'en when the vault is bright; 
Brierian-handed for its mate, 

To make a burden light; 
Which means, without hyperbole. 

It helps each other free 
The snarls that tangle warp and woof 

Of Hfe's bright tapestry. 

I leave our sky-high front each morn 

To reach my desk by nine. 
Choke-full of vim and good intent. 

As one who leaves a shrine 
To do the work with earnest will. 

Whatever I am at. 
For him who pays my weekly wage 

And her who queens our flat. 

At five I dofif my office togs, 
Don coat, hat, gloves and cane. 

And mingle with the gentlemen 
Who take the five-twelve train; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 45 

I'm pleased to fancy there are few 

Of all who pass me by, 
So glad to mount five flights of stairs 

And reach their home^, as I. 

And then — Oh, then 'tis life to live 

To see her gladsome beck, . 
And feel the pressure of soft lips, 

And arms about one's neck; 
To sit beside the snowy cloth 

And gorge the toothsome food, 
And listen to the dearest voice 

That lover ever wooed. 

O cosy flat! O heartease flat! 

We're two who sing thy praise. 
Who lilt the strains that ne'er grow old. 

Through fair and darksome days; 
Who keep the tender heart-lute strung 

And true, whate'er befall; 
Who hold this faith: — of all good things. 

Love is the crown of all. 



IF LOVE BE BLIND. 

If love be blind, as some folk say. 
Not so is mine this blessed day. 
For well I see my lad this way 

Now strolling and a humming; 
So if 'tis true that love's no sight, 
What is it fills me with delight? 
Why is it that my heart grows light 

And joyous with his coming? 

If love be blind, no love know I; 
And yet my heart my lips belie, 
For it is happy when he's nigh 

And sorrows at his leaving; 
Then, too, there's many a charm I see 
In him, that none perceives but me — • 
Pshaw ! Love sees double quantity, 

Some folk are past believing. 



46 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

BRIGHT EYES. 

"I'm in love," my tom-boy stated 

In the strictest confidence, 
"Yes, indeed, and I'm elated 
That it is no poor pretence; 
And he loves me, too, sincerely. 
Though another long he's had 
Whom he says he loves most dearly, 
Meaning you, dear, — good old dad!" 



REUBEN'S HEAVEN. 

If this is not a chunk of heaven. 

While you are on my knee. 
Then sight of it was never given 

To lucky wight like me; 
Just twine your arms around my neck 

And look straight in my eyes; 

Gee whiz! if you're not all the deck 

Then I'm the ace o' lies. 



■^- 



TRUE AFFECTION. 

Now, why so shy, my posey, 

When I my love declare? 
My cot is snug and cosy 

And waits for you to share; 
Two chairs, a bench, a table, 

A dresser, delf and bed 
Are there, and well I'm able 

To buy more when we're wed. 

Five acres, all my own, too. 

Are free from claim or debt; 
Potatoes well are grown, too. 

And corn and beans are set; 
The cabbage and the lettuce 

Are thriving well in ground. 
So what is there to fret us 

When we're in wedlock bound? 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 47 

The sow and half her litter 

I'll sell on market day; 
The old grey mare I'll fit her 

With brand new painted dray; 
The harness I will piece them, 

To look as nice as new; 
The chickens I'll increase them 

A dozen head or two. 

A cow I may be able 

To get with other store, 
And with such stock, unstable 

Is love, to ask for more; 
Then why so shy, my posey? 

When I my love avow, 
My cot is snug and cosy, 
And waits its mistress now. 



^ 



WHAT HE HEARD. 

Three maidens, arm in arm. 
Were walking cow-trod ways 

Around a dairy farm. 
In the vacation days. 

They rested from the glare 
In shade of hedge-row wide. 

And all they talked of there 
Was heard the other side. 

"Now, Nan, you know 'tis true 
He's dead in love with May, 
And she plays to his cue. 
No matter what you say." 

Sweet May, with eyes ablaze, 
Tore up the harmless grass, 
And coo'd: "You've wasted days 
With that egregious ass." 

"I-n-d-e-e-d!" was Belle's retort. 
In frigid tone; "my rule 

And taste exclude that sort 
Of addle-pated fool." 



48 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

The list'ner, through the hedge 
Saw the sweet girls retire; 

His teeth with rage on edge, 
His face aflame with ire. 



MISS NANCY. 

On Sunday morning, when the air 

Enticing was to love-lorn sinner. 
He wandered from the town to where 

There was no lack of herbs for dinner. 

He reached the fields where, fresh and green, 
The grass with pearly dew was spangled, 

And laces, fine as ever seen. 

Were in Aurora's jewels tangled. 

He saw them glitter in the rays 
The early sun was o'er them flinging, 

As if a million gem-filled trays 

'Neath strong electric lights were swinging, 

And some there were that melted in 

With others, which just caught his fancies. 

For never was, 'neath dimpled chin, 

A throat to suit them like Miss Nancy's. 

Sweet Nancy, in her velvet dress, 
Bobbed up before him ev'ry minute; 

She posed in all deliciousness, 

Her voice trilled from a vagrant linnet; 

She skipped behind the dew-bent grass, 

That soaked his shoes and trousers' frayed ends, 

And from a clump of sassafras 

He heard her in a bluebird's cadence. 

'Twas Nancy here and Nancy there, 

That lured his thoughts from nature's wooing; 

There never was a flower so fair, 
But she'd outshine, to its undoing. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 49 

A bed of violets, so sweet 

That they could stop a wild bee's humming, 
Were slaughtered by his straying feet. 

Because on her his mind was thrumming. 

He even tramped a pasture o'er 
Where a young bull began to bellow 

At seeing the red scarf he wore. 
Because it brightened up a fellow. 

"Go to! You crazy brute!' he cried, 

"I'll wear it though you roar and prance, see?" 
By scarce an inch he saved his hide. 
That held the love he had for Nancy. 

'Tis said a cat may view a king 

And love him, too, in ev'ry nation. 
But biped love's another thing, 

When soaring far above its station. 

A king once loved a beggar maid 

And raised her to the throne beside him, 

But if a queen her sceptre laid 

To lowly squire, then woe betide him. 

Now, Nancy was a pretty maid. 

In fact, she was a rosy beauty. 
Who visits to her father paid 

In his great house, as was her duty; 

And when she walked along the store, 
To reach the curb by her two-wheeler. 

Our bull-chased clerk, with dozens more. 
Expressed a strong desire to steal her. 

So month by month, all unexpressed. 
This loving soul most dearly prized her; 

He kept her warm beneath his vest. 
Where ev'ry hour he idolized her. 

He could not sleep, could scarcely eat. 
The store-girls had his silent scornings. 

And so to Nature he'd retreat, 

To sing her praises, Sunday mornings. 



50 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

DOROTHY. 

O nimble-fingered Dorothy, 

Do put your knitting by 
And take a sunny walk with me 

Before the bright hours die; 
Don't wait to put your head-shade on, 

But give your hair a treat; 
The soft wind waits to spring upon 

And kiss it when you meet. 

She dropped her work and up she rose, 

And down the lane we went 
With lightsome will; the way we chose 

Was not without intent; 
For well I knew few passed that way 

Our moments to beguile, 
Or merely say the time of day 

And pass with knowing smile. 

Nor was I wise, nor yet a fool 

In matters of the heart; 
No teaching had I in love's school, 

To learn the simple art; 
Pray, what are eyes for but to see, 

And ears, if not to hear 
A voice so full of melody. 

And orbs so soft and clear! 

The narrow lane, with bushes bound. 

Starts straight, ends like a hook. 
Then wiggles on, a field around. 

Till blocked by willow brook; 
And there, above the turbid brink, 

She heard — well, you may guess. 
But how 'twas said one fails to think, 

Remembering but her "yes." 



WHAT WOULD YOU DO? 

Let us suppose 
That I love you. 
If I'd disclose. 
As lovers do, 



She — 



He- 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 51 

The secret hoard 
Of growing wealth 
My heart has stored. 
And all by stealth — 

What would you do? 

I'd first make sure 
That all of it 
Were coin, test pure, 
Not counterfeit; 
And then I'd find 
If such great wealth 
Were good for mind 
And body health — 

That's what I'd do. 

That it had grown 
So full and fast, 
From seed well sown 
The season past; 
That it had burst 
Its coffers through. 
And you'd be first 
To hear it, too — 

What would you do? 

Ah, then, I know 
I would not be 
So very slow 
And miserly 
As not to share 
It with some one 
For whom I'd care 
To spend it on — 

That's what I'd do. 

Now do not start; 
It is not gold, 
But wealth of heart 
For you I hold! 

wise Nonsuch! 
A moon ago 

1 guessed as much 
As you'd bestow, 

And now I know. 



She — 



He^ 



She- 



52 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

MIGNONETTE. 

Oh, cold and distant Mignonette, 
I love you so, I love you so! 
Not all the rhymes to music set. 
Nor all the fervor fond hearts show. 
Can ever tell or make you know. 

Were you less fair, less sweet and good, 
Were not so far above my class. 
Perhaps my love'd be understood 
And I'd not seem so poor and crass; 
But such is fortune's trick, alas! 

And so the airy dreams lie dead. 

Like frost-stabbed buds they strew my mind; 

The mana sweet, on which love fed. 

Is buried where no hope may find. 

Nor shall I turn a glance behind! 



LONELINESS. 



The cherry boughs in field and lane 
Are waving scented blooms again, 
And birds are piping, merrily: 
With all its beauty Spring is drear, 
Its bourgeoning's devoid of cheer, 
Which faded, vanished, dear, with thee. 



^ 



TELL ME. 

As you love me, tell me, dear; 
That is what I wish to hear; 
Soul and fibre need and crave 
What I ask for, what you gave 
With the fervor of love's fire 
Ere you'd won your heart's desire; 
Ere the bridal wreath was bound. 
Or the ring my finger wound. 



BRAMBLES AND T WIGS OF SONG 5,7 

Yes, I know your love is true, 
True as ever fond wife knew; 
All your constant care for me 
Needs no other proof, .you see; 
But I long to hear you, too. 
Say "I love you, love; love you," 
Though you may not think there's need, 
Being mine in heart and deed. 

See the globe upon the lamp; 
Does it vibrate in its clamp? 
See it when these chords I strike; 
How it sounds, responsive like! 
You're the chord and I'm the shade, 
Happy is the music made; 
So 'tis with my feeling's, dear. 
When from your lips love I hear. 

We, like children, often find 
Thoughtless habit keeps us blind; 
So I've news for you to hear — 
Oh! don't hug so roughly, dear! 
That's one reason why I do 
Want endearing words from you; 
And the other reason I 
Long for them's — because; that's why. 
X- 

LOVE'S PLEADING. 

Darling, linger yet awhile. 

Night is long for resting, dreaming, 
Only one short hour beguile 

With the soft rays o'er us gleaming; 
Kindred hearts the happier are 

When the dewy blooms are sleeping, 
And the patient ev'ning star 

Over them bright watch is keeping. 

Life's a cheerless, barren waste 

Where affection's unrequited, 
But of heaven a sweet foretaste 

When its tender vows are plighted; 
Joy may reign and peace betide. 

Grief may bring its sting depressing. 
Still, where truth and faith abide, 

Each is tempered with love's blessing. 



54 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Dear, I love you, you alone; 

That is how I'd spend the hours, 
Weaving words to chain my own 

Through the time that shall be ours; 
Waking, dreaming, toil or rest, 

Love's the song of each endeavor; 
Come unto my heart, life's best! 

Thine, and thine alone, forever. 



THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW. 

A two mile tramp by mill-race way, 
And then the kitchen window light! 
There's naught can lighten work o' day 

Like thought of reaching home at night 
To see the dearest hearts that live, 
And hear the welcome they will give; 
Oh, girley wife and baby wee, 
A prince of joy you've made of me! 

5f 



AFTERMATH. 

It was in the Summer past, 

Was it not, that we went rowing? 

Lord! how time does fritter fast 

When young, tender hearts are growing; 
You were on the lake with me, 
Sun was setting gloriously. 
Not another could we see. 

Nor a sail-boat showing. 

Don't you see the brambly shore 
Stretching round the Mermaids' water? 
Can't you hear the echo o'er 

That your silver laughter brought her? 
I was pulling in the bow. 
Someone near me, learning how, 
How'd it happen, think you now, 

To your mother's daughter? 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 55 

No, of course not; it's so long, 
Long ago, we can't remember; 
Where's the bloom that used to throng 

Summer hills, in sere December? 
Now the cold blast, like a vise, 
Holds the lake in sheets of ice, 
It has nothing to entice 

In these days of Ember. 

Seems it strange to you that men 
Sometimes waste an hour in pining? 
Dream of things that might have been, 

If the moon'd not tired of shining? 
Lovely moon! She's not to blame 
If a moth should dare to claim 
All the radiance of her flame; 

Moths have such designing. 



THE OLD STORY. 

Dear joy of my life, wheresoever you be, 

I am tirelessly thinking of you, 
Whilst you're breathin.s: the air of a city, like me, 
Or away on the mountain, or out on the sea, 
There is never a moment my mind can be free 

From your presence, so tender and true. 

The flowers you love best on my window-sill grow, 

And they thrive on my Jove, for they see 
There's a million times sweeter one blooming, I know, 
For my happy heart chatters its secret, and so 
They just smile when I tend them, and blushingly show 
How they love a fond lover like me. 

Sweet soul of my soul, be you never so far 
From my eyes, in my heart you are nigh; 
As yon bright, constant lamp, in its heaven of tar, 
Is the mariners' snide, 3'ou'rc my light and my star. 
Which no dark cloud of doubt in me ever can mar, 
While the days of our love-life wing by. 



56 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

My stint's gladly done ev'ry day in the year, 

Barring Sundays, in rain or in shine, 
And my savings are growing for your sake, my dear. 
So you'll not want for beautiful things, never fear, 
And you'll know not a cause for a sorrow or tear, 

If my heart tells me true, dearie mine. 



THE LONG WAY AROUND. 

There's a short cut back, and a long way around. 

Now which shall we travel, said he; 
''Oh, the long way's the better, the short's rough 
ground, 
And my shoon they are thin," said she; 
So the dark seeped down on the valley wide, 

And the horned owl heard her say: 
Any road would seem short with him by her side 
Though it stretched through her life's long way. 



^ 

WHEN WILL HE COME? 

When will he come? I'm weary. Oh, so weary, 
Awaiting tidings from beyond the sea; 

The days are dreary, long and very dreary, 
And night brings not refreshing sleep to me. 

When will he come? My heart is ever sighing 
With ev'ry throb at morn, at night and noon, 

And still the same low voice gives hope whene'er re- 
plying. 
Be patient, heart, he'll hasten to thee soon. 

When will he come? Oh, if he knew the anguish 
My fond heart suffers when he's far from home; 

How fear and longing make me fade and languish. 
He'd hasten back and nevermore would roam. 

When will he come? Why, why should he deceive me? 

Why teach my heart the love of all my life? 
Why did he not unloved and loveless leave me, 

A happy maiden, not a lonely wife? 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 57 

When will he come? I cannot cease complaining^ 
I know 'tis foolish, but my love's to blame; 

I've waited patiently a word explaining 
My dear one's absence, but it never came. 

When will he come? I ask the sighing willow 
The same old question a many times each day, 

I ask the stars, when restless on my pillow, 
I question winds that come from far away. 

When will he come? I'm faint and nigh despairing, 
The flowers were budding when he went from me. 

And now the field a garb of snow is wearing, 
And flowers have vanished from the hill and lea. 

When will he come? My bud, my precious baby, 

I see his image when I look on thee; 
Perhaps he knows not thou art born, and maybe 

Thy face, my angel, he will never see. 

When will he come? A feeling dread comes o'er me 
When thinking of the dangers on the deep, 

The storm, the wreck, and death appear before me. 
And make me tremble in the hours of restless sleep. 

When will he come? Relieving tears are flowing, 
I'll raise the window and lean upon the sill; 

The air is chilling and the wind is blowing 
The withered leaves across the field and hill. 

When will he come, ye placid stars down shining? 

When will he come, ye winds from o'er the sea? 
When will he come to quell my weak repining? 

When will my darling one come back to me? 

When will he — hark! I hear a footstep treading 
Among the scattered leaves upon the hill; 

I see a shadow in the moonlight spreading — • 
Strain, strain, my eyes ; be still, my heart, be still ! 

He comes! he comes! O love, my heart is bounding, 
My bosom waits thee, my life, my darling one! — 

I look again on hill and land surrounding, 
I hear no footsteps, and the shadow's gone. 



58 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Close, close, false window; I am burning, thirsting; 

He comes not now to quell my horrid fears; 
My head is aching and my heart is bursting, 

My eyes are blinded in a flood of tears. 

My head is raised and all seems strange around me, 
I feel my forehead, hair and lips caressed — ■ 

'Tis he, thank God! his loving arms have bound me, 
I hear his dear, dear voice; sweet, heavenly rest! 



CONTENTMENT. 

(Husband and Wife.) 

H. — Well, now the good day's work is done. 
That was in early hour begun, 
I'll rest me here beside the hob, 
And portion out in mind the job 
The morning's breaking dawn may show 
Awaiting willing hands. 

W. — Aye, warm yourself from tip to toe, 
Before the blazing brands, 
While I will frisk about and see 
To setting things to rights for tea. 

H. — Around the chimney's bare of thatch, 
And that may take an hour to patch ; 
And Moll, the mare, in pulling through 
The ford to-day, cast off a shoe; 
So it will be close on mid-day 
Before I leave the forge. 

W. — And as it's not much out of way, 
Drive over to the Gorge, 
By way of Thistle lane, and find 
How fare my folk in health and mind. 

H. — And never give a hint at all 

, Of what may hap ere pippins fall? 

And never whisper in their ear 

What they'll be overjoyed to hear? 

Nor even tell them we've a name 

For baby girl or boy? 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 59 

Should some good fairy, little dame, 
Bring to us both such joy. 
There, there ! that blush becomes you well, 
But, as you wish it, I won't tell. 

W. — The table's spread, draw near your seat, 
And bless the Lord for what we eat. 
And bless the willing man besides. 
Whose daily energy provides 
Warm shelter from the biting wind, 
And food to full content. 

H. — Would that our neighbors all might find 
Such care when day is spent. 
And hardest work would give the zest 
To spend at home the hours of rest. 

Jt 



CONSTANCY. 

When Love adorable was born 

His songs were all in joyful keys, 
Which sounded as from jeweled horn, 

In bright and gladsome melodies. 

When to the prime of life he grew, 

His strains waxed weak, though sweet and clear, 
And all of them, some old, some new. 

Were played to the same listening ear. 

Now dolent days bring trembling notes. 
When all the world seems cold and drear; 

But one refrain the sad air floats : — 

"Would she were here ! Would she were here !" 



^ 

INCONSTANCY. 

Howl, raging wind, with might and main ; 
Pour, rain, in torrents on my head; 
Flash, lightning, daze a man who'd wed 
A flint-heart maid, with windcock brain. 
Ho! Satan, hie to where you dwell 
And tell your legions grilling there. 
Earth holds a beauty, false as fair, 
Who's driving one more fool to hell. 



6o BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

A MAIDEN'S CHOICE. 

Brilliant eyes, rosy cheeks, where away now? 

Where are you wandering, pray? 
Not thinking to meet him who follows the plow 

And whistles the whole blessed day? 
He's a brawny and fine looking lad, to be sure. 

But he's awkward and laughs like a clown, 
I'm a gentleman born, he belongs to the poor, 

Such as he are my servants in town. 

Rosy cheeks, brilliant eyes, linger awhile. 

Listen to what I've to say : 
I'd give of the wealth I possess for the smile 

You gave to that youth yesterday ; 
Be my wife and I'll deck you in silk and brocade. 

You'll have pearls and diamonds to wear. 
You'll have your own servants, a man and a maid. 

And gold for your wants and to spare. 

Pretty face, tempting lips, answer me now, 

Will you wait for your young lover yet? 
His living is gained by the sweat of his brow, 

While mine costs no effort to get ; 
He's young, strong and poor; I'm — ah — ripe and wise; 

He is ignorant; I'm educated! 
Come, answer me now — and before she replies, 

The old beau is highly elated. 

"Keep all your diamonds, pearls and stuff. 
All your servants and fine education; 
My lover is poor, but has more than enough 

To suit both my wishes and station; 
He's young, handsome, loyal ; you're wise, rich and old ; 

May it please your great highness, I'd rather 
Have him for my husband than all of your gold. 
And you — for a dear, old grandfather." 



THE POWER OF LOVE. 

The silence of night's noontide 

Was brooding in the air, 
And slumber, sweet and peaceful, 

Had screened each heart from care, 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 6i 



When from a cottage doorwav 

Stepped quietly a maid. 
To meet her loved one waiting 

Beneath a leafy shade. 

She lingered in the pathway. 

All bathed in clear moon-rays, 
And thought of those who loved her 

Through all her young life's days; 
She heard her unseen angel 

Plead that she might delay. 
But fancy's dream enthralled her, 

And turned her steps away. 

He met her at the gateway 

And clasped her to his breast 
And vowed his love should never 

Bring to her life unrest; 
That nevermore his sworn-lips 

Should touch the wine-cup's rim, 
That he would be her true love. 

And she a joy to him. 

Before a holy altar 

"Ere day and toil were rife. 
She wore a golden circlet 

That changes maid to wife; 
And to a distant city 

She sailed with him, her own, 
With naught to mar her pleasure 

But thoughts of home alone. 

And in that home deserted 

An aged couple wait; 
The mother loving, longing. 

The father nursing hate; 
For he who stole his lambkin 

He deemed a rake and more, 
A dead-sea fruit of beauty. 

But ashes at the core. 

In time her letters told them 
Of their poor trusting child, 

Which made them think her happy 
With him who had beguiled. 



62 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

The answers which they sent her 
Were laden with their love 

And prayers, that God might aid her, 
Though false all else should prove. 

Four years had passed, and Christmas 

Came in with frost and snow ; 
The aged sire was reading 

The Book for high and low; 
The mother clicked her needles 

And pondered, while he read 
Of the dear God-child lying 

In a poor manger-bed. 

And as he read the story, 

Her eyes with tears grew dim, 
As thoughts of her far darling 

Were mixed with thoughts of Him ; 
Her knitting dropped unheeded, 

Her hands fell in her lap. 
And 'ere her dreaming ended 

She heard the gate-latch snap. 

A tap upon the panel, 

'Gainst which the snow had blown ; 
She ope'd the door and saw there 

A little child alone. 
"I wants to kiss my grandma," 

Came from the warm wrapped head, 
"My mama an' my papa 

Dey wants her too/' it said. 

She clasped the little toddler 

And down the snowed path sped, 
And fainted in her daughters' arms 

As limp as one just dead; 
Her new-found son, upholding 

The mother, strided o'er 
The path, the steps, the creaking porch, 

The once forbidden door. 

The silent night departure 

While all the household slept, 
The meeting at the gateway, 

The promises well kept, 
Were told with love's elation. 

By young lips to old ears, 
While grandma cuddled baby 

And grandpa smothered tears. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 63 

JACK AND JILL. 

An idle mind is a tempting mind, 

Thought Jack; with agreeing will 

He whistled his way to her hgme, to find 

A very attractive Jill, 

Where she, the gracious, expectant maid. 

Sat. out in the garden bright, 

And under the lindens moonlit shade 

Rehearsed the wiles she had plan'd, to aid 

In binding the tardy wight. 



5f 

MOLLIE MACREE. 

Now, Mollie Macree, will you listen to me 

And be serious for once and not laugh? 
For I've something to say — now don't turn away 

When I ask you to be Misses Taff; 
I've told you before, twenty-five times or more, 

That I love you much better than life. 
And I think it a shame that you won't change your name. 

When I offer to make you my wife. 

There's Fanny McBride, sure she'd walk by my side 

Any day to the foot of the altar. 
And rich widow Vance would be glad of the chance. 

And divil of a foot would she falter ; 
In fact I may say, that on this blessed day, 

Half the girls in the parish would choose me, 
So you'd better make haste, as there's no time to waste. 

Or begorra 't might happen you'll lose me. 

But maybe you love that old miserly cove 

That is livin' beyond the big ditch? 
Who cares more for his pelf than he does for yourself, 

Though your father may say he is rich ; 
He is rich, it is true, but what would you do 

If his riches and he ever part? 
Now think of your folly and change your mind, Mollie, 

Or else you will break my poor heart. 

The day seems much brighter and toil feels much lighter 

When thinkin' of you, Mollie dear, 
Then how would it be if your love strayed from me? 

Ah ! cold would the world be and drear ; 



64 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



As a bright meadow flower in want of a shower 

Bends lowly its beautiful head. 
So I'd fade day by day, and would soon pass away, 

To sleep in a cold, narrow bed. 

What! It's tears that I see? My darlin' Macree, 

Sure I knew from the first you were true ! 
But old Matt McGoffin comes over so often 

I thought he might be after you; 
Let me wipe off your tears, and I'll banish my fears, 

Although they were all for your sake, 
And by next Christmas day the good people will say 

"What a beautiful couple they make !" 



FIVE YEARS AFTER. 

Come, Mollie, mv dear, and sit you down here. 

And we'll chat of the years passed away, 

For it makes me feel good, and I'm sure that you would 

Like to listen to what I've to say; 

Place the child on my knee, for she's sleepin', I see ; 

God bless her ! she looks like her mother, 

But, darlin Macree, the next must look like me, 

That is, if we're bless'd with another. 

You remember, I know, but a few years ago. 

When I was a slip of a boy, 

As we . rambled together across the green heather, 

I called you my darlin', my joy; 

And your beautiful eyes opened wide in surprise, 

When I kissed the bright bloom on your cheek, 

And from that day to this, sure I never could miss 

To practice each day in the week. 

But. Mollie Macree^ how you used to tease me 

When i^ou knew that my heart was your own : 

Sure you called me an owl and a night-walking ghoul, 

And not only such grave names alone ; 

For you vowed that my nose with a turn-up grows, 

And my eyes were as weak as could be ; 

But if that's a defect, sure it helped me select 

Your purty self, Mollie Macree. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 65 

Sure I knew 'twas a joke when of old Matt you spoke, 

For you never could love him, I'm sure, 

When a good lookin' lad like myself could be had, 

Though you knew that I was money poor; 

But I'd plenty of health — that's the best kind of wealth. 

And my conscience from badness was free, 

And for many miles round not a lad could be found 

To dance a jig equal to me. 

You remember the day in the bright month of May, 

When we went to the chapel below, 

And good Father John made us both into one, 

With his blessin' wherever we'd go ; 

And each laddie and lass turned out on the grass 

And danced to sweet Ballyporeen, 

With a laugh and a shout, now in and now out, 

We kicked up sweet joys on the green. 

When leavin' the ground, how the lads gathered round 

And insisted on kissin' the bride. 

But you started to run, and the boys, full of fun, 

Gave chase and were soon by your side ; 

And the dancin' went on till the daylight had gone, 

And the night put an end to our glee, 

Then all, merry hearted, bid good-night, and parted 

While blessin' you, Mollie Macree. 

Old Matt has his pounds, he has horses and hounds. 

He has lands and big houses galore. 

But we have our health, which is worth all his wealth, 

And it maybe, a few pounds in store ; 

Look, darlin' Macree, this young rogue on my knee 

Is so hungry she's suckin' her hand ! 

Here, take her away, and in truth we can say 

We're the happiest pair in the land. 



MEMORY BELLS. 

I wandered idly through the streets 

When night had shuttled down 
Her dusky curtain, ebon sheets. 

Upon the busy town ; 
The lights were flickering everywhere 

As homeward went the throng, 
When in a lone street, high in air, 

A sweet voice raised in song. 



66 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

It floated down the quiet space, 

Distinct in ev'ry phrase, 
The tenderest lines of time or place, 

To tune of other days; 
And as I lingered in the sliade. 

With no sound to annoy, 
It brought to mind the lissom maid 

I loved as man and boy. 

And once again the singer sang — 

As if 'twere meant for me, 
A simple lay whose pathos rang 

The bells of memory; 
It told of home, and love so strong 

It suffered sore for me, 
Whose wanderlust, so selfish, long, 

Was naught but perfidy. 

The lights were dimmed, the music ceased. 

And through the streets I went; 
The tumult of my mind increased 

Till in soft tears 'twas spent; 
"Dear heart! dear heart!" cried wakened sense, 

"What have I sown but wrongs? 
To thee and home I'll hasten hence, 

The better for the songs." 



SUNSHINE AFTER CLOUD. 

Depressed in spirit I awake 

From sleep ; there is no ache, 

No symptom to make one complain 

Of body or of brain; 

A.nd yet the teeming sky, half bright, 

Seems dull as yesternight, 

When o'er the threshold of her door 

I passed, to cross no more. 

Heigho ! there may be other fish 

As fine as one could wish ; 

It only needs a mesh of gold 

To net them in its fold ; 

But cast out hooks of honest steel, 

They'll wiggle like an eel^ 

And nibble, nibble, strip the baits, 

Then off like common skates. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 67 

Great sense, to let such wily things 

Play tag with one's heart strings ! 

To let them tune and tension it 

And twang it for a bit, 

Till all the sweetness of its chords 

Responds, for love's rewards. 

And then when all it's gamut's known, 

Grow weary of its tone. 

I ne'er will waste a ha'penny 

On maiden's constancy; 

I would not trust — "A letter, sir. 

Just in by messenger." 

"Dear Bear : — Ma's godson's here from Nome, 

Stopped off in going home ; 

He thinks that you were in his class 

In college. Come." Oh, jealous ass! 



^ 



POLLY. 

It's the fag end of day 

When I drive up the road 
To Cranberry Junction, 

With tightly packed load, 
And Polly she knows 

When my wagon should pass, 
And waits at the toll-gate, 

The dear little lass ! 

I bring her a ribbon 

To twist in her hair, 
Or some little trifle, 

A young girl may wear; 
And when there is time 

I drive down the town street. 
To buy her a posy 

Or lollipop sweet. 

She does all the work 

Of the home, and she mends, 
And on her sick mother 

She faithfully tends ; 
No word of complaint 

Have I heard from her lips, 
And all I hear of her 

Is praise, on my trips. 



68 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Her father he wants her 

To wed an old man. 
For he's a rich farmer, 

And help him he can ; 
But Polly she tells me 

Before she'll have him, 
Her locks will be missing, 

Her eyesight be dim. 

She's fair in my sight 

As a moss-rose in June; 
Her voice in my ear 

Is a love-waking tune ; 
Her eyes are like — pshaw ! 

There is nothing so mild— 
A doe's might come near them. 

Or those of a child. 

Her hands are not soft, 
For there's rough work to do ; 

She's plump as a partridge, 
And jovial and true; 

So, when I can show 
• Her gruff daddy he's wrong, 

I'll start for the parson, 
And tote her along. 



WHEN MY LOVE COMES HOME. 

Across the fields the whistle sounds 

And comes the engine's din, 
My heart throbs though 'twould burst its bounds, 

For soon my love comes in ; 
What care I now for lonely days 

Or leaden-footed nights? 
Good speed to them, no more delays, 

This hour the past requites ! 

Sing, oriole, your choicest song, 

Loud, louder, bob-o-link! 
Awake glad blue-bird and prolong 

Your prize notes while I think ; 
As the young year is all to you 

That food and drink can be, 
Sing, sing your thanks, and I shall too, 

For my love comes to me. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 69 

WHITE AND BLACK. 

White was the bloom of the peach trees 

When under the branches we strayed ; 
White was the moon, filigreeing 

Their leaves on the ground 'neath the shade; 
White was the brooklet's swift ripple 

When close to the edge we delayed; 
White was the lace on your shoulders, 

And white the plump groundwork it made. 

Black were the clouds o'er the moon's face 

As back through the orchard we went; 
Black were the looks of an erst beau. 

Who dogged us, with evil intent; 
Black, like a streak, was your spaniel 

Upspringing, a blow to prevent ; 
Black was the raiment escaping, 

And black was the cloth your dog rent. 

White were your dress and hair blossoms. 

And black was my vesture, beside ; 
White were the prism'd girandoles 

That gleamed on a light-hearted bride ; 
Black were the tresses that crowned you, 

Though white they are now beautified ; 
Black are your eyes, dear, and tender ! 

And white is the soul of my pride ! 

^ 

THE MIRROR BROOK. 

Bright, babbling brook, am I so fair 

As 3^our reflecting surface shows, 
Do I in outward guise compare 

With other maidens fair he knows? 
If you could tell him all I've said 

And dreamed of here above your tide, 
'Ere this wild-rose afar had sped 

Upon your breast, he'd seek my side. 



HER FETCHING SMILE. 

She's a pansy, she's a peach, 
And she's just about my reach, 
She's a winning heart exciter, 
She's the lulu of the store; 



70 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



She's a flawless pearl of pearls, 
She's the queen-rose of all girls, 
And if aught is sweeter, brighter, 
She is it and something more. 

She's as pretty, chic and neat, 
From her frizzes to her feet, 
As the top-notch of the ladies 

Whom I wait on through the day; 
She has got the swing and head 
Of a little thoroughbred, 
And I'd wish the man in hades 

Who'd dare question what I say ! 

She's a voice so low and sweet 
It would coax a corpse to eat ; 
She's a smile that sets me looney 

While she rustles round the silk ; 
But the deuce is she can't know it. 
For I'm shy on cheek — O, blow it ! 
She must think I'm nutty, spooney. 

Fed on baby-pap and milk. 

But what can a fellow do 
When in such a beastly stew? 
How I wish I had the nerve-gall 

Of the linen counter hand ! 
He's the kind of woolen goods 
That would up and praise her dnd?, 
Give her taffy that would serA^e all 

That diplomacy'd demand. 

Here she comes, the stunnin' lass ! 
''Dear, O, dear, I've dropped my glass ;" 
Now she's staring at the floorway 

With a look that's joy to see; 
Down the "Linen" drops and gripes 
The dear nose-thing, gently wipes, 
Hands them to her, by the door-way, 

Where she turns and smiles at me! 

Now, by stockings! there's my cue; 
O, you yankee, doodle doo ! 
You're a slob and you're not in it, 

If you don't curve to her tricks; 
Throw a bluff, take on a brace — 
Let your eyes devour her face, 
Get a move on just the minute 

That she leaves her post at six. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 71 

THE ENGAGEMENT RING. 

The night was still, save patter pats 

Of hail against the shutter slats; 

Before his attic bed-room fire, 

With book to feed a mind's desire, 

He sat alone, dropped book, was lost 

In figuring what diamonds cost. 

His young brow thoughtful, wrinkling, too, 

When he decided paste might do. 

Another night ; his poor racked head 

Tossed sleeplessly upon his. bed. 

For thought of losing her was — well, 

A little word a child can spell ; 

And all because his coin was shy. 

Could but an imitation buy ; 

For she'd declined, with thanks, to wear 

Aught but a carat solitaire. 

^ 



CALLING THE COWS. 

The day's dim tints were falling, 

The wind played in the trees, 
A mellow voice was calling 

In words somewhat like these : 
"Coboss, coboss, coboss," 

As through the field she went, 
"Coboss, coboss, coboss, coboss," 

High in the hills were spent. 

'Twas Jenn3^'s — well he knew it ; 

He'd waited for it where 
The dry pond spreads, went through it. 

And failed to find her there ; 
"Coboss, coboss, coboss" 

Grew nearer and more near, 
Till it was scarce a milk-pail's toss 

From where he lagged to hear. 

With hand on rail, young Benny 
Sprung o'er the pole-barred pass, 

And there was snooded Jenny 
Knee deep amid the grass ; 



72 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

"Coboss, coboss, coboss" 
Was sounded then by two, 

And straight-horn led the pond across, 
With "moo, a-moo, a-moo". 

The crickets waked the hedges 

With never slacking sound ; 
The field-toads hopped through sedges 

Where beetle life was found; 
A lone thrush and red robin 

With tanigers soared high, 
While hock-strained, grazing Dobbin 

Heard bussing lips hard by. 

Along the stretch of clover 

And under hemlock boughs, 
The maid and brown-tanned drover 

Strolled after straggling cows ; 
"A-moo, a-moo, a-moo" 

Rolled from the kine ahead, 
But what made Jenny's eyes of blue 

So bright, her cheeks so red? 



-5f 



WHEN GRANDMA WAS A LASS. 

"When olden time was young, 
And olden songs were sung. 
When olden vows of tenderness 
Were whispered in the ear, 
Time was a brighter thing, 
Song had a sweeter ring, 
Love vows were leal, false hearts were less 
Than in this later year." 

"Why, granny dear, it seems 
That you've been weaving dreams. 
Been winding through cotillion's maze 
And languid minuet, 
Or hearing some beau prove 
How you had won his love. 
To tinkling of an old spinnet — 
Yes, dear, they were bright days." 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG "jz 

Oh, heart and soul of me ! 
What may your day-dream be 
While gazing out beyond the hills 
That in noon's beauty smile? 
Heed not what grandma said, 
Her thoughts were of the dead, 
While ours the living present fills 
With love devoid of guile. 

K- 

CONFESSION. 

"A penny for your thoughts," she said, 

When noiselessly she crept behind him 
Who'd sought the mead one afternoon, 

Where few would stroll or think to find him; 
His chin was pillowed in brown hands, 

With elbows deep in lush sweet clover, 
When, looking up, he saw the maid 

That he was cogitating over. 

A penny's much too small, he said. 

To buy the castle I've been building; 
The nuptial suite's yet incomplete, 

The banquet hall needs touch of gilding; 
And, by the bye — my head and heart 

Have been debating, like old sages, 
The pro and con of catching birds 

Before providing them with cages. 

A lass I know, so fair and sweet 

That in my life she's grown a fixture; 
In plans of day and dreams of night 

She is it's one unfading picture; 
At times, as now, I wander off 

While scarcely knowing why I do it. 
And wonder should I speak my love, 

If she'd be glad, or would I rue it? 

"Oh, glad, glad, glad!" The words burst out 
Before her lips could close to stay them, 
And blushing like a rose, she cried: 

"Oh, no — yes — Oh! I can't gainsay them." 
Sing, sing, ye merry, mated birds. 

And key your notes to love's expression. 
Red clover, nod; breeze smack the leaves 
In joy at the dear heart's confession. 



74 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

LOVE'S VICTORY. 

When Phoebus thrills the sleepy hills 

With early morning kisses, 
They just lie still and take their fill, 

And frown if one he misses ; 
They make no call at all, at all, 

Because he wants so many, 
Nor take amiss a litle kiss. 

As you do, heartless Jenny. 

There's not a bird you ever heard 

Around your garden hopping, 
But fluffs its wings and sweetly sings 

When kisses follow popping; 
While I, poor clown, but get a frown 

For loving you so dearly. 
Must steal the kiss you'd never miss, 

That costs you nothing merely. 

Just see how wise are hills that prize 

Old Phoebuses addresses ; 
When Winter's come, they'll be so numb. 

They'll pine for his caresses; 
The loving birds will long for words 

To tell their mates their gladness. 
While snuggling warm from drenching storm. 

While you fill me with sadness! 

But hap' what will, I'll have you still. 

With all your cruel seeming; 
I'll kiss and" squeeze, just as I please. 

Your shadow when I'm dreaming; 
So, can't you give me joy to live 

And keep my heart from dying? 
Ah. love, my lamb! a beast I arn ! 

To drown your eyes with crying. 
5f 

LOVE AND TACT. 

I am always very glad 

When the sun goes down, 
For it's then my bonnie lad 

Takes his way across the town; 
In he comes at such a rate 

As if he'd no time to wait, 
And he slams the garden-gate, 
The big: baby! 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 75 



Mother says he'll change his way 

In the stern by and by; 
That he'll not be quite so gay 
^ When old trouble makes him sigh 
'Ere the roses come again — 

For he'll be my tyrant then. 
And he'll act like other men; 
Oh, well, maybe? 

And she says she knows what's what. 
When a young man swears 

He would rather die than not, 
Than grow cold to her he cares; 

Men, she says, are all the same. 
Their love burns just like a flame 

Till they weary of the game, 
That is pat ! 

She's been through the mill, she states, 

And she's 071 to their styles; 
If 'tis truth that she relates, 

They are full of petty wiles ; 
They will promise anything 

'Ere you wear the wedding ring, 
'Tis another song they sing 
After that. 

But that does not worry me, 

Not a wee little bit; 
I am just as wise as she 

In such matters, ev'ry whit; 
I will do as others do, 

I will love him and be true. 
And poor mother's fears I'll shoo, 
That's a fact. 

I will take the life-long trip. 

He the skipper, I the mate, 
And if storms shall strike our ship, 

I will try to steer her straight; 
As we don't expect to sail 

O'er the deep without a gale. 
There's a sister ship to hail, 
Christened "Tact." 



76 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

A DAY IN JUNE. 

In passing through the townland way 

To fill my Inngs with fir-breath balm. 
The roads were dry, the clouds were gray, 

And all between the two was calm ; 
The wayside weeds were thick and rank; 

The white-lashed daisies thin and tall; 
The beds of spearmint, bank by bank, 

Breathed out their sweetness over all. 

A crow's nest topped the white-oak wood; 

A brace of squirrels crossed the road ; 
A cock thrush nestward winged with food; 

And warty toads on ditch edge showed; 
All things were heartening as I went 

In June-time's sprucy, balm-like air, 
To win my sweetheart's glad consent 

To change her name for that I bear. 



-4f- 



HOW COULD YOU, KITTY? 

Kitty, Kitty, you're a riddle, 
You are worse than any jester, 

Though you're sweeter than first fiddle 
In the opera orchester. 

Yesterday you were so charming 
That you lifted me to heaven, 

But to-night it's quite alarming 
How so near to hell I'm driven. 

Is it fair to turn such freezings 
On a heart that's for you aching? 

It's enough to bring on wheezings 
And a fit of ague shaking! 

If your mother'd froze your daddy 
Ere her marriage, 'twere a pity; 

Then you'd have no patient laddie, 
Just because there'd be no Kitty. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG T] 

Why, you charming little devil! 

Oh, you letter-perfect soubrette! 
Jump into my arms and revel 

Or I'll not believe it true yet. 

Raise your soncy, teasing snip-nose, 

Till I twist it well, my pretty! 
No; reach up, straight on your tip-toes — 

O, how could, how could you, Kitty! 

5f 

PROPOSALS. 

The threads of Time were on his crown, 

On her's the morning gloss; 
The seams of age his face lined down, 

Her's, smooth as peachy floss; 
The touch of youth his heart conceived 

And with his passion played. 
When like a veteran he weaved 

His love-tale to the maid. 

'T love you well as ever man 

Could love a woman fair/' 
And on and on it smoothly ran, 

Like oil from grilling bear; 
"We'll be as gay as two — as two — 

Well, 'hearts that beat as one,' 
And half my lares I'll deed to you, 

With all, when I am gone." 

The girl was coy while he romanced 

And would not stop his flow; 
Nay, nay, his warmth she countenanced — 

How man proposed she'd know; 
For there's a lad by Merlin's Hill, 

The dearest one she knows, 
But lagging, bashful — yes, she will 

Teach him how men propose. 

"O, ho! some one's been stalking here" 

The sweetheart hunter thought; 
"Though not my quarry, she's a dear 
An earlier seeker caught; 
My golden shot has gone astray 

And over-late my aim; 
I'll joke it off, as best I may. 
And flush more willing game." 



78 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

In Spring, they say, men's fancies go 

Toward Love's enticing snare, 
Which day by day, from snow to snow, 

A woman's wiles prepare; 
And though from trap to trap they rove, 

As bees from flower to flower. 
Full soon they're gripped and cannot move. 

Nor would, had they the power. 

Within a kitchen, cosey, bright 

With blazing chimney logs, 
A captive lounged one misty night, 

Safe from old Merlin's fogs; 
And safe, too, through the haze of doubt 

The timid wooer knows. 
She deftly led him, helped him out. 

And learnt how men propose. 



A DAUGHTER OF EVE. 

"When first I loved you?" Well, 'twas when 

My feet were led toward ways of grace; 
'Twas Sunday, you in side-pew then. 

Wherein the verger gave me place; 
To tell the truth and shame the de'il, 

I cared not what the day's theme was, 
I knew I felt the strong appeal. 

And you, you sinner, were the cause! 

We joined in hymns from self same book. 
We knelt on same low, padded shelf, 

I to myself the preaching took, 
"To love my neighbor as myself"; 

Since then, think you, I'm less devout 
In practicing the good advice? 

Put on your things, go, bustle out 
And buy your duds — be sure they're nice! 



UNDER THE OLD OAK. 

Under the old oak down in the glen, 

Near by the side of the stream. 
Where elm. trees grow and the wild poppies blow, 

And the sunbeams brightly gleam; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 79 

Where the daisy and dandelion raise their heads, 

And thorn rose and lily so fair 
Seem to vie with each other in nature's own way, 

To brighten and perfume the air. 

Under the old oak down in the glen, 

Oft have I passed hours away, 
To meet her, the dearest, the sweetest and neatest, 

Among the wild bloomings of May; 
I've watched and I've waited, impatient and vexed, 

And oft I have left in despair. 
Having passed weary hours, and night coming on, 

When the little witch would not be there. 

Under the old oak down in the glen, 

Where katy-did talks through the night, 
I met her, the sweetest, the sauciest, completest 

Of maids, that 'ere tempted a wight; 
I vowed that I loved her, and told her again 

The story, the old story o'er. 
And kept on repeating the vows I had made 

While the storm-clouds fell lower and lower. 

Under the old oak down in the glen. 

We stopped while the rain pattered down, 
Then she started for home — of course not alone, 

And I kissed her to see if she'd frown; 
She frowned and she blushed as she smacked my poor 
ears, 

But she was a sweet dear to see, 
And till this very hour she remembers the shower, 

While under the old oak tree. 



THE LURE OF LOVE. 

Oh, purty, sloe-eyed Ellen, 

It's fur you me heart is swellin' 

Like the buddin's on the hawthorne, 

Like the thrush's throat in song; 
An' it's proud I am it's growin' 
Like the praties that I'm hoein', 
Fur the promise is fur plenty. 

Like me love, so thrue an' strong. 



8o BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



Here I work, wid thoughts so plazin' 
While the cattle's round me grazin'. 
An' the dew-wet cheeks o' Nature 

Glisten in the mornin' sun, 
That I'll swear be all that's livm', 
Yer the sweetest crature given 
T' put gumption in a gossoon 

That has only lived fur fun. 

Now I earn an' drame o' money 
While the bees suck clover honey, 
Then buzz off t' where their hive is 

T' store up 'gen freezin' days; 
So, egad! I'll pledge from now on, 
That I'll stint, an' save, an' plough on. 
Till the shillin's grow t' guinies 

Fur the colleen o' me praise. 

Then we'll marry, build a cabin, 
An' we'll take t' private gabbin' 
Of our acres, wan or manny, 

An' our pigs, ducks, hens an'^ ass ; 
Then our farm gain I'll be sellin' 
In the market, wid me Ellen, 
An' save somethin' fur the childer 

That'll come as saysons pass. 



DESCRIPTIVE POEMS 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 
THE SNOW STORM. 

At eve the snow came down 

In large, dry flakes, nor ceased 
When night put on her crown. 

And starry satellites increased 
In number, till the conoave throne 

Surrounded was on ev'ry side, 
And through the white-specked air they shone 

Like myriad crystals magnified. 

The fields of upper air 

Still shed, when morn awoke, 
The dew, congealed and fair, 

Which, like a spirit-woven cloak 
Of lightest, softest floss, bespread 

And metamorphosed familiar things, 
Or else through dead of nisrht they'd fled 

To other spheres on noiseless wings. 

The windward side of all 

The sheds, and barn and fence, 
Are heaped full six feet tall; 

While o'er the land's circumference 
The fleecy white's a fair yard deep. 

Effacing ev'ry sign of road, 
Save where the gate-rails barely peep, 

And bushes bend beneath their load. 

No sound of busy life 

Is heard along the ways, 
At other times so rife; 

But in her stall old Jenny neighs 
And stamps 'tis time for morning meal; 

And Shep' springs through, up to his eyes, 
To where the piggies grunt and squeal, 

With snouts thrust through the white barred sties. 

The stack's a spotless tent; 

The woodpile's hid from sight; 
The hen-coop's a fair monument 

Of polished marble, smooth and white; 
The woods behind the pasture lot 

Are like a land of fairest dreams, 
So chaste and fair, without a blot. 

And sparkling in the red sun's beams. 



84 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

The breakfast crumbs are cast 

Without, and the alert 
Voracious sparrows peck them fast, 

Before the pigeons can assert 
Their right to share; while being made 

Are half cleared walks, which straightway go 
This way and that, so household aid 

May pass, skirts clear, through walls of snow. 

To-night, when chores are done 

And supper's cleared away, 
The men shall have their fun, 

As always on the first snow day; 
October cider, amber clear. 

And apples, hard and blushing red. 
With sweetened cake, will make good cheer, 

Before they seek the restful bed. 

And when the snow will pack 

In roads from here away. 
We'll find in the thumb'd almanac 

The brightest night to use the sleigh ; 
And then old Jenny and black Bill 

Shall have a merry load to draw 
For miles and miles, by dale and hill, 

Knee deep in hay and well topped straw. 



A JUDEAN MARRIAGE. 

In ancient days, beyond the sea. 
Where dwelt the early chosen race. 
Who bore the stamp in speech and face 
Of Abrahamic pedigree; 

Who, like the people of to-day, 
Were strong and weak and good and bad. 
Were plain and comely, gay and sad. 
Were modest, bold, and loved display. 

The men and women woo'd and won. 

And rabbi's sealed the marriage rite 

With prayer and benediction; bright 

The scene with flowers, while sweet strains, spun 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 85 

From harp and pipe and dulcimer 

O'er tempting was to dancing feet, 

And young hearts throbbed with joy replete, 

Which older dames could not deter. 

Light pleasure ruled the fleeting night 
Within each square, low-ceilinged room, 
Where many lamp flames banished gloom, 
And prisoned birds, encaged from sight 

In fig tree branches either side. 

Swelled out their plumaged throats with song, 

As if outvieing all the throng 

With blessings on the happy bride. 

The merry marriage supper spread, 
The hands were washed, the blessing given; 
Both groom and bride^ by law of H.eaven 
And earth made one, were to it led. 

Each cup was filled with fragrant wine; 
Each health was pledged the room around; 
The merriment was then unbound, 
Until the host gave parting sign. 

Then from her childhood's home the bride 
Went forth; a gay procession led 
The way, and many torches shed 
Their glimmer on each end and side. 

Nor left they till the wedded pair 

'Neath their new lintel entered in 

The home prepared, where those akin 

Bade welcome to the couple there. 

***** 

The second chapter of Saint John 
Records a Hebrew marriage feast, 
Which, in some salient points at least, 
Were like to those just dwelt upon. 

Though common pen's unfit to write 
Of it, e'en with preparing prayer, 
He, who by His own presence there 
Wrought happiness, will guide aright. 



86 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



In Cana of old Galilee, 

A fair hour's walk from Nazareth, 

Whence Christ went forth to teach till death, 

A marriage feast there was to be. 

The Virgin mother and her Son 
Were called, and His disciples, too, 
As guests, to join and honor do 
The plighted twain, ere it begun. 

And there, in midst of homelike sights. 
The Giver of all good things stood, 
Who, by His presence sanctioned good, 
In pleasures, feastings, joys and rites. 

There, whilst the guests about Him moved, 
There, while the joyous hours went by, 
With His disciples standing by. 
His sympathy with joy He proved. 

For when the ruler showed by sign 

And speech, t^at all the wine was spent, 

His mother to His presence went 

And said to Him, "They have no wine." 

The bounteous Son called unto Him 
The servants. "Fill the water pots 
With water," who, quick as zealots, 
Filled the six pots unto the brim. 

"Draw out now" — From old Mispah's hill, 
Bethula's vineyards, Cana's heat, 
Ne'er flowed a wine more pure, complete. 
Than that swift vintage of His will 

Thus unto ev'ry pleasure's given 
An added bliss when He is guest; 
He sees the need, grants the request. 
When earthly wants are ways to Heaven. 

***** 

Though scripture doth not so declare, 
A legend's rife in Palestine. 
That all the jars that held the wine, 
When emptied, vaporized in air. 

Howe'er that be, we fain would share 
The thought, that blessed must have been 
That marriage over all e'er seen. 
For Jesus Christ our Lord was there. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 87 

A MOONLIGHT DANCE. 

'Twas a fine night in June, 

In the full of the moon, 
When the nightingale warbled full sad notes entrancing, 

That fair Lilian Clyde, 

With young Phil by her side, 
Hurried off to the meeting to join in the dancing. 

Captivating the while 

Was the promising smile 
That spread over her features and set his heart beating; 

Very teasing looked she, 

While he coaxed her to be 
But his partner alone in the dance at the meeting. 

Very sweet the perfume 

Gushing out of the bloom 
That bespangled the waysides, the banks and the hedges, 

And fragrant the smeil 

Where her nimble feet fell 
In the juicy green grass growing on the road edges. 

And the nightingale's song 
Piped a welcome along 
From the weed-tangled ditch to the path through the 
clover, 
Where drowsy-eyed cows 
Huddled under the boughs 
Of the high, branchy oaks, when she climbed the stile 
over. 

O, a beautiful scene 

Is a broad meadow green 
When the hedges with blossom and moonshine arc 
laden; 

But treble as fair 

Seem the beauties all there, 
When enjoyed by the side of a v/insome young maiden. 

Over stile after stile. 
For the length of a mile. 
And along by the paddock, where lambkins were bleat- 
ing, 
Then out to the road. 
Where a merry voiced load 
Of young couples they joined, on their way to the 
meeting. 



88 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



Now the fiddler, blind Pete, 

Is led up to his seat, 
While the dancers in opposite lines are extending 

Along the trim green, 

With a passage between, 
Of a width to touch hands, with the body down bend- 
ing. 

Just to show his command 

Of the bow in his hand, 
The musician, most proud of his great reputation 

Of first and best player 

For a dance or a fair. 
Gives a flourish that gains him a loud approbation. 

Now a brisk-footed reel 

Is led off, toe and heel. 
By the ends pirouetting, to meet in the middle, 

Then backward to place, 

Twice again to retrace 
The same movement with turns to the time of the 
fiddle. 

Round each dajicer in line 

Now the head couples twine, 
While the welkin re-echoes to voices of pleasure. 

As a partner, in haste, 

Misses circling the waist 
Of the maid he would swing to the light tripping 
measure. 

In a light dress bedight, 

With the bodice hooked tight, 
Ev'ry curve of her full rounded bosom revealing; 

And her small slippered feet. 

Under ankles as neat 
As had ever instilled in ascetics love's feeling. 

With a motion all grace, 
Down the soft, grassy space. 
O'er the foot mangled oxlip and clover advancing. 
Swings fair Lilian Clyde, 
Round and round by the side 
Of the happiest lad to be found at the danc- 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 89 

Now the cloud covered moon 

Seems to silence the tune 
That the sweet throated nightingale sings to her beam- 
ing, 

From her first beam of light 

To the noontide of night, 
When the radiance direct from the zenith is streaming. 

And 'tis nearing the hour 

When the brownies lose power 
To encumber the earth with their shadowy flittings 

Through dingle and down, 

Hamlet, village and town. 
And all places to goblins and spirits befitting. 

There are dark eyes and blue 

For fond lovers to view 
As they whirl through the maze of the changing co- 
tillion; 

And there may be, too, there, 

Other maidens as fair 
As the saucy-tongued, tempting-lip'd, beautiful Lilian. 

But it's not in her face 

All her beauty they trace; 
It is not in her merry, bright eyes they discern it; 

It is not in her mind 

The enticement they find — 
'Tis a charm undefined, and not easy to learn it. 

Now the last dance is done 
And dispersion's begun; 
Arm in arm down the road and again through the 
meadows 
They leisurely pass 
O'er the dew spangled grass, 
In the light of the moon and the cloud passing 
shadows. 

As they climb the high stile, 

With a blush and a smile 
Lilian hears the old story, and hints of romancing. 

But promises, too. 

To be loyal and true 
From the hour they returned from the sumrner night's 
dancing. 



90 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

LOVE OF THE COUNTRY. 

You think the country's drear and slow, 
And wonder why I love it so? 
Well, all it shows hath charms for me: 
The cock's loud crow, the drone of bee, 
The low of cattle, bleat of sheep, 
The songs of birds, the green lands sweep. 
The fragrant sod, the smokeless air, 
The ozoned sweetness everywhere; 
The odor of the dew-drenched earth. 
The unveiled smile of morning's birth, 
The floral blooms of Nature's own, 
Their cultured sisters, garden grown. 
The cricket's creak, the fire-fly's glow. 
The restful sleep night's hours bestow — 
These are the country's charms for me, 
Culled from its great variety. 
5f 

PARD BILL. 

A queer lookin' flower to put store by, you say, 

With nary a claim fur it's beauty and smell; 
You wonder the reason it's packed so away. 

All trimly tied up with this hair braid? O, well, 
The story is long, as I knows it, my youth. 

But if I had larnin' or gift o' the jaw, 
I'd write it all down — though I hain't, that's the truth. 

I'll try fur to spin yer the yarn straight as law. 

Bill Burney an' me wus gay chums when to hum; 

We growed up together, but Bill he wus smart; 
At sportin' an' shootin' he tuk the best plum. 

An' alius wus boss in affairs o' the heart; 
In July, forty-nine, some big stories wus told 

How some o' our cronies, what left fur the mines. 
Wus strikin' it rich; so we went fur the gold. 

An' Bill rode ahead, while I handled the lines. 

But wusn't we sick nigh to death on the way! 

An' wusn't we heart-sore an' tired o' the tramp 
Across the lone prarie fur day after day. 

With copper-skin'd scalp hunters trailin' our camp? 
But Bill he wus game to the crown o' his head. 

An' if he wus down, he had lashin's o' hope; 
With powder grown scant an' our animals dead. 

We hoofed the old Rockies right down to the slope. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 91 

We staked out a claim with a promisin' look, 

Bill worked his own side an' with mine giv' a hand; 
Fur six months an' over, I swar by the book! 

We never panned nothin' but gravel an' sand. 
But jest as our courage wus leakin' all out 

My pick struck a vein, an' young man, if I lie, 
Or spin the yarn crooked, that gold lay about 

In chunks nigh as big as your eyes, may I die! 

We never let on, neither me nor my pard, 

But salted the nuggets an' dust whar we stood, 
An' kep' on a diggin' an' washin' es hard 

An' harder than when our luck wusn't es good; 
But, somehow, we couldnt play possum too long. 

The boys thought us cute or a pair o' darn fools, 
An' cute wus the verdict they histed in strong. 

An' made us toe up to the gin treatin' rules. 

So, leetle by leetle, from that blasted day, 

My chum tuk to drink, him as alius wus straight, 
An' left me a diggin' an' shov'lin' away. 

While he bossed the gin-mill frum early to late; 
To spin the yarn short — my pard blab'd in his cups 

How many clean ounces we had in our pile. 
An' toted his pals to our claim, an' then ups 

An' offers to scatter our earnin's in style. 

Well, youngster, I dunno, but since then I think 

Ole Brimstun' an' whisky is nearly akin, 
Fur Bill, when he seed me object, like a wink 

His gun he popped out — here's the hole in my skin! 
Then onto the tub, what hanged over the hole. 

He staggered, not knowin' the windlass wus loose, 
An' down like a streak he shot — "Christ save his soul," 

I cried frum my heart, ''he's es dead es a goose." 

The boys, when they scraped frum thar' wits all the 
wool, 

Shinned down after Bill, who wus lyin' all still 
Way down in the shaft, with a hole in his skull 

As round as — well, bigger'n your hand would fill; 
They histed him up whar the light o' the day 

Could fall on his face — ah! good Lord, how he bled! 
It made me feel sick an' I fainted away, 

Just like a weak gal with no pluck, they all said. 



02 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

By an' by his lips moved an' he mumbled my name, 

Then opened his eyes, an' he breathed very hard, 
An' says, very weak like, "Pard, I wus ter blame, 

Let's make up again 'fore I pass in my card; 
Tell Jennie, fur me, if you git back again, 

I thought of her always; an' give her my share; 
An' if she kin like yer in time, of all men, 

I wish yer would spark her an' marry her fair." 

That night when the diggin's wus quiet as death. 

He waked frum the sleepin'-dose saw-bones he fixed. 
An' dazed like he chin'd, almost under his breath, 

Of everything goin', with heads an' tails mixed; 
But when he cried, frightened like, "Jenny, O — Jen" 

We knowed in our bones 'twus the last gal he'd name, 
An' sure enough, thar in the tent of us men. 

My poor pard went broke an' slid out o' the game. 

An' this? O, a flower what growed down in our claim, 

Bill plucked it an' kep' it, he said, fur good luck; 
He giv it ter me 'fore he skipped, fur the same; 

I keep it fur his sake, an' luck what we struck; 
An' Jenny? She married before I returned; 

Proved heartless? Not much. She'd his gold to 
enjoy. 
Unfeelin'? O, no; fur my poor pard she mourned. 

Why, youngster, I failed fur to say, you're her boy, 

.X- 



CHANCE. 

The dullard's hand may poise the straightest lance 
And pierce the object — that is called mere chance; 
The trained may gauge with care and let it fly 
And miss completely, and all wonder why. 
So in the game called Life; the first oft nails 
Success and power — the other simply fails. 



THE SOLITAIRE. 

"Glory be to God," he cried, as deep 
Into his ears the deafening thunder 
Roared, and filled his troubled spirit 
With a thrill too deep for utterance. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 93 

High quivering on the rocky side. 

And far above the firry point 

That crowns the mountain's northern slope, 

The storm-lashed cedars shook and shrieked. 

As if five times ten thousand fiends 

Were making pandemonium there. 



Like monster giants, banks of clouds. 
As black as pitchy furnace smoke, 
Whirled high above and rushed along 
To meet with clash and clang terrific; 
While down and o'er the mountain's crest. 
The blinding forks of fire were hurled 
Like spears electric from a bow. 
Full tension drawn, by angry Jove. 



"Great God," again he cried, "forgive 
The puny thing that erst did dare 
To harbor doubts of Thy existence! 
Thy face now shines before my eyes. 
And full conviction strikes the core 
Of that I thought was not — my soul. 
Thou art the King of Heaven and earth, 
And I a blind, presumptuous worm." 

"As from a horrid, deathly dream 
That pressed and bowed my darkened sense, 
And fettered, as with jaws of steel. 
The will that led my carnal way, 
I wake and tear the film in twain 
That veiled my purblind sight, and lo! 
Thy face I see. Creator, Lord, 
In ev'ry phase of Nature's mood." 

The storm had spent its mighty strength. 

And all the land seemed to rejoice 

At the pluvial god's retreat. 

All heedless of his rain-soaked garb, 

With thoughtful mien, the solitaire 

Paced to and fro the stony walk 

That stretches from the mountain's rib, 

E'en though the night was falling fast. 



94 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

THE FROST ARTIST. 

Come, children, and see what the frost artist did 

While you were wrapped snugly in bed; 
He slipped in last night, in the clothes closet hid, 

And heard ev'ry word that you said; 
He heard Jacky say that he wished it would snow, 

And Fan make a wish it would freeze, 
He laughed to himself as he whispered *T11 show 

Them my pictures on windows and trees." 

Look here on the panes, see the pictures he drew, 

His finger the brush, his breath, paint; 
See, here is a castle and donjon-keep, too, 

And there is a cloister-paled saint; 
A boat and two swans on a deep, rippling lake, 

A lady with long trailing gown. 
And here is a camel, a deer, and a drake, 

And lauk ! see the funny faced clown ! 

Now peep through the cleared pane and see the yard trees 

With branches all silver and glass, 
Just look at the icicles sway in the breeze 

And fall on the frost hidden grass; 
And now the sun gleams on the twigs of the vines; 

Were diamonds ever more bright? 
Or laces of richest, gem-studded designs 

So pleasing and rare to the sight! 



-^- 



A SKETCH. 

The priests have from the altar gone; 

The waxen tapers lit thereon 

Through solemn mass, are dimmed each one, 

While those that flicker either side 
The thorn-crowned Saviour crucified — 
The artist's greatest work and pride, 

Still cast a soft and mellow light 

Across the canvas, left and right, 

And from the ceiling's white-starred height, 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 95 

The sunlight's penetrating through 
The rhombic windows varied hue. 
Adorning pulpit, aisle and pew, 

And lingers on an image which 
Stares down from an exalted niche, 
Enrobing it with colors rich. 

Without the altar-rail, a score 

Of worshippers kneel on the floor, 

A litany repeating o'er. 

Before a crucifix of stone, 
A maiden prone and all alone 
Doth for some venial sin atone; 

And surely, face more pure and fair 
And innocent, ne'er raised in prayer; 
A very angel seems she there. 

The chiming of the angelus bells 
In the adjacent convent, tells 
The sisterhood to quit their cells. 

And kneel before the altar, where 
Each sin-renouncing soul may share 
The solace of accustomed prayer. 



^ 

AN EXCURSION. 

(Two schoolboys.) 

ist — Let us rest here awhile in the shade, dim and 
cool, 
With this bowlder our seat and the grass our 

footstool; 
See yon closely sheared sheep and their neigh- 
bors, the cows. 
How they huddle together all under the boughs. 
And the short horned heifer, outside of the pack, 
With her lazy head propped by the brindle one's 
back. 



96 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



2nd — And the fleet-footed colt, that took fright at the 

sound 
Of your hallooing voice, how he springs o'er the 

ground; 
By and by he'll forget all such baby horse pranks, 
When the bit's in his mouth, and the whip's on 

his flanks. 

1st — What a tow headed urchin that is in the pool, 

Wading up to his brown dirty knees, to feel cool, 
How he spatters the water around him, in play, 
Which the sunshine transforms into diamond- 
like spray. 

2nd — Don't you think that the life of that bare-headed 
boy 
Is a pleasanter one than the life we enjoy? 

1st — Well, perhaps it may be, but I'd think it quite 
strange 
If in earnest you'd offer with him to exchange. 

2nd — There's a boy letting down the long bars of the 
gate 
And behind him a couple supporting a weight; 
'Tis a maid and a youth, coming back from the 

field 
With the warm, creamy milk that the cows' 

udders yield; 
How they loiter behind, having sent the lad on 
In advance to the house, and seem glad that he's 
gone. 

1st — Let us back to the hedge, so they may not per- 
ceive 
There are strangers about, for they're lovers, 

believe; 
I will wager my flowers 'gainst the bunch you 

possess. 
That before they move on we will see them 
caress. 

2nd — Be it so, and the brambles that here intervene 

Will not hinder our view, while remaining un- 
seen. 
He, he, he! Now peep through and you'll see him 
begin; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 97 

How he biingliiigly tips the maid under the chin; 
Look at her, the cute fox, though she wants to 

be kissed, 
All his efforts she playfully tries to resist; 
How she feigns to elude his intended embrace. 
Round the vessels of milk, and he after in chase. 

ist — He is up with her now, and is reaching his hands 
To grasp hold of her dress and — away go the 

cans! 
Ha, ha, ha! see him floundering on the wet earth, 
And the cause of the accident roaring with mirth. 

2nd — What a woe-begone emblem of guilt he appears, 
While the maiden is struggling 'twixt laughter 

and tears; 
Hear him call her a tease, she retorts he's a 

goose. 
So we'll leave them unwatched to invent an 

excuse. 
I will climb, if I can, up the bole of this tree. 
And creep out on the boughs, if you'll come 

after me. 

1st — 'Tis agreed, if you'll bend me a back firm and 
stanch, 
And then boost 'till I swing from the lowermost 

branch; 
Now we're up, let us monkey as high as we can 
And select a safe seat the wide country to scan. 

2nd — See you now how the branches here tremble and 
sway, 
Though there's not the least danger of snapping 

away; 
And the gusts seem increasing the higher we go, 
Though there was not a zephyr to fan us below, 
Look away to the left, where the birds, winging 

high. 
Skim the tops of the cluster of cedars that lie 
In the down falling shadow — 

1st — Where gray smoke ascends 

To the low hanging clouds, that a shower por- 
tends? 



98 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

2nd — It is just beyond there that a growing town 
stands, 
With its smoke begrimed factory crowded with 

hands; ' 

And yon serpentine streak, with its silver like 

gloss, 
Stretching out from the point it appears, all 

across 
To the base of the hill, where 'tis lost to the eye, 
Is the stream that delivers their water supply. 

1st — Falls there not on your ear, even now, a dull 

sound, 
Like the rumblings of wagons on rough, stony 

ground? 
And portentous the noise, for 'tis thunder instead 
That presages a storm soon to burst on our head; 
What a marvelous change in a few minutes' 

space! 
What a frown has come over the land's smiling 

face! 
Not a gleam of the stream can the vision detect. 
Nor a ray from above for its face to reflect. 

2nd — And the rooks for their fledglings have taken 

alarm. 
And are hastening back to their bough nests in 

swarm, 
What a fearful report when the lightning fork 

flashed 
High above yonder trees, where the thunder 

clouds clashed; 
And the rain as it nears to the earth seems to 

meet, 
And descends to the ground like a transparent 

sheet; 
While the thick growth of leaves o'er our head's 

v/aterproof, 
We're as free from the rain as beneath our own 

roof. 

1st — If the signs over there are a base for belief, 

It's a heavenlj;- proof that the storm will be brief, 
For the black clouds are parting, and forming 

below 
Is the indistinct shape of the promising bow. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 99 

2nd — Now around on the ground, for a tid-bit in quest, 

Hop the brown-coated sparrow and wary red- 
breast; 

And the rooks fly again from their high swing- 
ing perch 

On the uppermost boughs, to assist in the search; 

Oh, turn now on the bough and look out on the 
bright 

Glorious arc, that the firmament opes to the 
sight! 

How entrancingly beautiful all colors show 

Through the thin, sunny mist 'tween the earth 
and the bow. 

1st — There are violet, indigo, 3^ellow, light blue, 

Most distinctly perceptible now to the view; 
There are orange and red and a beautiful green, 
With prismatic refractions all scattered between. 

2nd — How serene the vault is, now the conflict is done 
That the elements waged, and how brightly the 

sun 
Throws his warm, genial rays from the light 

clouded sky. 
To attract back, in vapor, another supply 
From the life renewed land, streamlet, river and 

main. 
To return it profusely when needed again. 

1st — As the rain from the leaves is beginning to drip. 
Let's descend from our perches, with care not to slip, 
For the law gravitation, in country and town, 
Is the same in effect, and the proof's dropping 
down. 

2nd — What an odorous smell all the verdure gives 
forth! 
How revived the grass looks in the draught 

quenched earth; 
And how brilliantly yellow's this buttercup bed — 

1st — And how soggy and muddy's the road we now 
tread; 
And how opportune, too, is yon lumbering wain, 
Coming down by the way we must tramp back 

again, 
If the driver refuses to give us a ride 
On the top of his load or the seat by his side. 



loo BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

2nd — It is pleasant to stray, when propitious the time, 
From the town's habitations of brick, sand and 

lime, 
To the green mazy rambles of nature's design. 
Where the birds and the wild blooming flowers 

combine 
To enrapture the mind. 

1st — Or supinely to lie 

By the verge of a stream that flows murmur- 
ing by. 
When the wizard of thought his enchantment 

applies 
To our indolent brain and half somnolent eyes; 
When from under the water, from grottos un- 
seen, 
To the sound of low music uprises the queen 
Of the beautiful Naiads, whose exquisite mold 
Were a model a genius would die to behold. 
I'll describe her: At first then, her feet are quite 

small. 
And incased — 

2nd — Like her body, in nothing at all, 

For she left, there's no doubt, all her gossamer 

clothes 
With the Nymphs in the grotto before she arose; 
And unwary, of course, that you lolled by the 

stream 
In an afternoon nap and a full-stomached dream, 
She ascended the waves, as we well may suppose, 
With her snowy white form sans a bustle or 

hose. 
To disport on the ripples, whose musical flow 
Were attractions to tempt e'en a queen from 

below. 

1st — There, now, quit! what sarcasm I've brought on 
my crown! 
Let us jump on the wain and ride back towards 
the town. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG loi 

DAYBREAK. 

Morning — and purple light upon the hills, 
A pale grey haze, like spider-woven gauze 

In intervening space, the ambient spills; 

From yonder grove a lonely singer fills 

The matin hour with intermittent trills, 

As though it calleth "Come," and then a pause. 

A chirrup from the linden overhead 

And swift wings flutter through the rustling leaves; 
The hens desert their rafter-roosting bed, 
And with the pompous cock seek daily bread; 
And now upon the wakened land is shed 

The light and glory which the day-orb weaves. 
5f 

A RURAL SKETCH. 

An ill-faced vagrant upon a lonely road, 

A mongrel worrying the thing unclean; 
Long, scraggy hedges, meadows smoothly mowed, 

And white bloom buckwheat, with fields of produce 
green; 
A herd of heifers, moving as they choose, 

A lad and lassie lovering behind; 
Blue billowing smoke, from scattered homestead flues, 

Like half rolled flags till waved out by the wind. 
^ 

ONCE ON A TIME. 

The old attic-room by a ladder was gained, 

A ladder of sycamore sides, 
With steps smoothly worn, as if carefully planed, 

And rails that made fine belly-slides; 
No trap-door to open was set in the top, 

A hole, rudely square, let us through. 
And in the room's center a skylighted drop 

Partitioned the bright place in two. 

A rope-bottomed trundle, with thick feather-bed 

Set close to the down-sloping beams. 
Was welcoming haven for drowse laden head, 

Too weary, too healthy for dreams; 
An inch length of candle,' in saucer of sand, 

Was always the portion for night. 
For mothers are knowing and well understand 

That conning of stories needs light. 



102 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



The wee bit of candle soon dropped it's charred wick, 

But whole ones, though .smuggled, burnt late, 
To add to our knowledge of "Buccaneer Nick," 

"The Hunters or Gallaway's Fate"; 
How swiftly the time flew, what hair-raising deeds, 

What dangers were passed day and night, 
How bravely the maid for her bound lover pleads — 

How sharp the call: "Put out that light." 

By nine o' the clock all the house was at rest, 

The windows latched, doors safely barred, 
When often we waited in silence, all dressed. 

To steal down the roof to the yard; 
A rugged old oak spread above the peaked ridge, 

One bough the brown shingles o'er-run; 
With skylight unhasped, opened, there was the bridge! 

Then ho for the fellows and fun! 

The weather-stained roof, what a sound-board it was 

To youngsters all snug in their bed, 
When night-roving hawks, owls or squirrels would 
pause 

And scratch, screech or run overhead; 
The wind-maddened branches, that storms tossed about, 

Weird wailings sent down to our ears, 
While rain-notes that pattered on surface and spout, 

Voiced tunes of creation's first years. 

Too early the mornings, which alwa3'S broke through 

The panes that were set in the frame; 
The squeaking old pump-handle's "chu-er ker-chu," 

Soon called to the work-a-day game; 
With yawning and stretching and turning about, 

With dozing ofif ere one could know. 
The dawn's pleasant nappings were soon put to rout 

By knocks on the ceiling below. 

Old Time has his innings, is prompt and precise, 

Is sure, as this globe rounds the sun, 
And gray crowns and wrinkles, or death, is the price 

He charges for young years and fun. 
Enjoying the past is to live it again, 

Cold Autumn then feels the Spring's prime,. 
And wide-awake visions bring happiness when 

They lead back to once on a time. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 103 

A WINTER SUNRISE. 

The somber light of sky and clouds 

Through vapory air descends 
On snow-spread ways, on trees in shrouds, 

Far as the sight extends; 
Deep silence binds the drowsy earth, 

Till the awakening East 
Shouts welcome to the day's new birth 

From night, the predeceased. 



AN INDIAN LEGEND. 

The Palisades keep guard above the river 
Like mighty ramparts, on the western side, 

Whose altitude's so great it brings a shiver 
To look sheer down upon the flowing tide, 

Which, churning northward from the great Atlantic, 
Is met by floods from divers streams and lakes. 

Commingling there, the frowning height gigantic 
Undying witness to the marriage makes. 

And when the Ebb recalls the ocean bridegroom, 
He clasps the northern stream-bride to his breast, 

And down they flow, in middle or in side flume. 
Beneath the tide or on its spumy crest. 

In centuries long past, the Indian daughters 
Were wont to gather on the steeps o' nights, 

And hearken to such tales told of the waters 

By young braves, wrought to love's poetic flights; 

And oft they'd dwell on feats they'd heard related, 
Such as how Wawa swam the angry tide, 

Cut through the Pequod enemy he hated 
And fled with Aunawanda, the chief's pride. 

But only when Kwasind, the singing poet. 
The stalwart Delaware they liked so well. 

Would join the story-tellers, they might know it 
A sign that he had something good to tell. t 



I04 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

The mid-month moon was banked by gray clouds 
wholly, 

When from his wigwam, bordering the wood, 
Kwasind approached the table-rock quite slowly, 

As if in thought, to where the young squaws stood; 

The maidens gathered 'round him, as a quiver 

Of light shot down when o'er the cloud-shade rolled, 

And coaxed him some new legend to deliver — 
When all were squatted, this the tale he told: 

"Shimbro, the good, has departed. 
Gone as the past Winter's snow, 
Dead as the fire-stricken forest, 
Silent as waters at rest; 
Manito, the Great Spirit, called him, 
Called him away from the chase. 
Gathered him in from the council. 
Hid him away from his kind. 

"Said the Great Spirit to Shimbro: 
'Good were the labors you wrought; 
Aliens have heard of your kindness. 
Best of your tribe they declare; 
Helper of those weary footed. 
Tender to children and age, 
Sage in advice to the wayward, 
Comfort in care and distress. 

" Thus the reward to your Spirit : 
Share of my power for good. 
Visit the lodges of nations. 
Bringing them peace and good will; 
Go as the air goes, unnoticed; 
Go as the sunshine, unheard; 
Go as the rain to the parched land, 
Bettering what you may touch. 

" 'Visit the Hurons, Cayugas, 
Senecas, Pequods, Mohawks, 
Mohegans and Tuscacoras, 
Decotahs and Wyandottes, 
Delawares and Penobscots, 
Oneidas and Iroquois, 
Choctaws and Onondagas — 
All of the Great Spirit's wards.' 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 105 

'Good to the spirit of Shimbro 

Sounded Manito's commands, 

When from the Great Spirit's presence 

Went he, with surfeit of joy; 

Back to the forests he hurried, 

Glad as a warrior chief 

Bearing the spoils of a nation 

Beaten and scattered afar. 



"Over the land moved he, making 
Happy the creatures he loved; 
Raising a chant in the squaws' throats 
Over the pestel-crushed corn; 
Planting bright thoughts in the maids' minds, 
Brimful of soon-coming good; 
Making the hunting and planting 
Nobler than battle and blood. 

"Where his feet pressed were as seeds dropped, 
Springing up many-faced flowers; 
Charging the air with sweet odors. 
Sweeter than juice of young maize; 
Wheedling the growing papooses 
Off of the tired mothers' backs; 
Wooing the maidens to twining 
Necklaces, wreaths for the hair. 

"Trees with long arms upward reaching, 
Covered with grass-colored leaves 
Thick as the eyes of the night time, 
Winking and shining above, 
Sprung from the trails of the bison. 
Sprung from the tracks of the deer, 
All through the heat of the Fire Ball, 
All through the grass-growing days. 

"Happy the leaves danced whenever 
Winds blew their breaths on the trees, 
Moving them gently to singing 
Chants, which the Great Spirit taught; 
Then when the storm in a passion 
Slashed them, they whined like a wolf, 
Howled like a hungry pack seeking 
Moose, which the village had tamed. 



io6 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

"One day there came to the leaves' ears 
Whispers from garrulous winds, 
How, as the Fire Ball waxed colder. 
They'd wither, lose vigor and die; 
Sad they were then for the mothers 
Suckling them from their full breasts; 
Tried they the more to be cheerful, 
Making the parent-trees glad. 



"Like to the dark after bright light; 
Capture at end of a chase; 
Warmth in the cold's clutch lay helpless, 
Spreading its blight on the leaves; 
Hurling them down from the branches, 
Twisting their stems from the twigs, 
Silent they huddled together 
Over the forest's domain. 

"They were so lovely in colors 
Blanketing all the bare ground, 
Shimbro, in speeding above them, 
Deemed them too pretty to die; 
So, with the power of Manito, 
Gave he them feathery wings, 
Bodies, heads, eyes, claws and horn bills, 
Naming them every one birds. 

"From red and brown of the oak leaves 
Robins soared into the air; 
From ochred leaves of the white birch 
Yellow birds upward took -wing; _ 
From scarlet maple leaves, red birds 
Prinked their fire plumage and flew; 
From darker leaves sprung the thrushes, 
Mocking birds, wrens and dark flocks. 

"That is the reason the air tribes 
Build their moss-nests in the_ trees; 
Singing to all their green kindred, 
Close to the branches confined;, 
Shimbro sends them to the warm land 
When the cold hardens the streams; 
Calls them all back when the Fire Ball 
Wakens the waters and leaves." 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 107 

Such was the legend related 
High on the table-rock's brow. 
Over the waters, where mated 
Ocean and streamlets, as now, 
Centuries ere the white's dread face 
Showed in their beautiful land^ 
Bringing alarm to their red race, 
With matchlock or cutlass in hand. 



H- 

A FARMYARD IDYL. 

The fairest hour in all the summer light 

Is this, when o'er the eastern wall 

Appears the yellow, shining ball 

Of day, from antipodean night; 

For now it is that leaf, and blade, and wood. 

And flower, and dew-soaked soil give out 

Their subtlest scents, while all about. 

The sprightly sparrows seek for food. 

A distant cock-crow cuts the silent air 

With strains so strong they sound ancar; 

And now replying, high and clear, 

A rival blows his pipe elsewhere; 

A whirring buzz, as if from insect wings, 

Arises from the grass around; 

A grasshopper now scrapes his sound, 

While midges exercise their stings. 

Out of the meadow land a lark takes flight 

Straight toward the clouds; with joyous trills 

His matin song flows out and fills 

The ravished sense; now, yet in sight, 

On tireless wings to heaven's high gate he soars, 

A tiny speck in ether blue. 

Whence a melodious shower sinks through 

The trembling air, and earthward pours. 

Ethereal minstrel ! thy sweet song doth prove 

A paean to the tranquil morn_. 

Thy list'ning mate and brood new born. 

For ev'ry note vibrates with love; 

Thy hidden home nest, in the meadow green, 

Shall bide in peace for aught of me. 

So warble thy sweet melody. 

Thou clearest voice 'neath sky serene! 



io8 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

The round of work begins and farm hands pass — 

Full uddered cows, with bar-curbed heads, 

Await the milkers in the sheds, 

E're they are driven out to grass; 

A flock of ewes rush bleating through the gates, 

With Roy, the collie, at their heels, 

A lagging one his sharp nip feels, 

And quickly scampers to her mates. 

The glowing orb now clasps the dewy ways 
With arms of sunshine, warmer grown; 
In pregnant fields his fervor's shown; 
The orchard blushes in his rays; 
In ranks erect the maize, with tunics green, 
And helmets decked with silky plumes, 
Keep guard above the corn flower blooms. 
And golden pumpkins grown between. 

The market horses chafe impatiently, 

Swish their long tails and shake their manes; 

The driver clicks and draws the reins 

And off they canter willingly, 

And scatter frightened chicks and mother hen. 

Which starts a-clucking for her brood 

With parent's loud solicitude, 

Until they're with her safe again. 

A full-tailed squirrel skims the chestnut fence 

And up an oak, as sounds approach; 

A quint of urchins, out to poach. 

Strut by with well feigned innocence; 

A clear, cold stream, where branches veil the sky. 

And moss lies soft beneath the trees, 

Inviting is to take one's ease 

With pipe and book till noon slips by. 

5f 

ON A MOUNTAIN. 

God's presence fills the air 

On this high mountain; everywhere 

Is solemn silence; not 

A sign of life in this lone spot 

Can searching eyes discern; 

But rocks and scrub at ev'ry turn. 

And sandy soil, packed deep 

In fissures where coarse trailers creep. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 109 

A hazy curtain hides 

A tent rest, where my kind abides; 

A three hours' walk it seems. 

By fallow land and straggling streams 

To this sky-reaching place. 

Where Nature's unadorned face 

In ruggedness appears, 

From lashings of uncounted years. 

'Tis said these peaks were first 

That in the watery period thrust 

Their tops above the flood, 

And since, all changes have withstood; 

So when o'er all the deep 

God's spirit brooded, just as steep 

Was this old mountain's brow. 

On which my trembling feet stand now. 

Who knows, but long ago — 
Let's say a million years or so — 
Some hairy, thick-skinned race 
Lived out their time about this place; 
Who knew of joys and woes, 
Had friendly neighbors, dreaded foes, 
Who fought for food each day, 
And with the glaciers passed away. 

Perhaps in future, men — 

Say in a million years again — 

As different as we 

Are from our prehistoric tree. 

May crowd this barren place 

With wonders of a greater race; 

May view our boasted lore 

As we gauge what has gone before. 

Be changes what they may, 

This, living man cannot gainsay: 

Yon earth-embracing sun 

Will shine when man's brief race is run- 

This concave vault still spread 

When ev'ry breathing thing has fled; 

Yea, time shall end for aye 

Ere these gigantic rocks decay. 



no BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Upon these mighty hills 

There is a something that instills 

A sense of peace and rest, 

Most soothing to a troubled breast; 

It may be loneliness, 

Bred of these scenes that so impress; 

Or Nature's wondrous plan 

That so exalts the soul of man. 

While on this dizzy peak 

I stand, with heart too full to speak, 

I pray to, praise and bless, 

The Giver of this happiness; 

And as I gaze around, 

I feel that this is holy ground 

On which to stand unshod. 

As if in living sight of God. 



5f 

A SPRING FRESHET. 

Down from the hills the waters pour 

The harvest of the thawing rains, 
Which through a many streamlets roar 

While seeking sea through dales and plains; 
Destruction work they on the way; 

Like puny things at once grown strong, 
They burst their bounds, tear banks away. 

And rush their captive loot along. 

Great trunks that line the fated banks 

They undermine and downward sweep; 
The sapling growth, of feeble shanks 

Like huddled sheep, mid-current keep; 
Above the stonen falls the jambs 

Of logs and wreck the floods resist, 
But like combined hydraulic rams, 

The waves disperse them like a mist. 

The young year's breath is like a balm 

From all its tender buddings pressed; 
The firmament around is calm 

And bluey-white as spring-time's best; 
Like one whose face is wreathed in smiles, 

Though inwardly is passion's prey, 
Sweet Nature's flood its anger piles 

And spreads a blight along its way. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG in 

But through the swirl of neutral things 

A lovely view of peace is had: 
Upon a wave-tossed branch it swings— 

A little song-bird trilling glad; 
It sees, perhaps, the bending sky, 

The signal promises of Spring, 
And sings its joy as it floats by 

In perfect peace with everything. 

And thus I thought: In this great sea. 

Our world, when turbulence is rife. 
If we would face it merrily 

And seek its peace, avoid its strife; ^ 

The tin}'- branch to which we cling, 

The foot of earth we rest upon, 
Might well suffice to make us sing 

Our silent thanks while life goes on. 



A PATH TO THE SEA. 

All sand-blown and rank with weeds 

Along the lonely way. 
It trails like the squirming breeds. 

It shows on a misty day; 
The stunted and scraggy pines, 

Like invalids unshorn. 
Anemic are, with weakling signs 

Of Nature's luckless born. 

With spume of the wild sea's rage, 

With sand blasts from the shore. 
With starveling food their heritage 

Since they a bud-needle bore. 
They fill their appointed space 

In Nature's fecund plan; 
Give wild sea fowl a sheltering place 

Afar from haunts of man. 



112 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



UNSEEN NIAGARAS. 

We stand enraptured, yea, with awe-struck mind. 
At sight of the great cataract's unceasing pour, 
Its thrilling magnitude, its spread, plunge, mist and roar, 
And think earth's greatest power is in the whole com- 
bined; 
Not so; a myriad times its force in earth's concealed, 
Which pushes from its teeming heart the round year's 

yield 
Of spindled stem, and leaf, of bud and flower and fruit, 
As silently as beams of dawn the shades transmute. 



A MID-WINTER WALK. 

When last we loitered in these ways 

The scene was wreathed in vernal dress. 
Which now is decked in duns and grays. 

Beneath a cloudy somberness; 
The northern wind now nips the boles 

And boughs, then gay with foliage. 
Their long, bare arms seem begging doles 

Of softer air from Winter's rage. 

The brook by which, with hum and chat, 

A pleasant hour we oft enjoyed. 
Is silent as a sleeping bat, 

For bottom deep with ice 'tis cloyed ; 
This rock, which your full palms baptized 

"Our country seat" no changes shows ; 
'Twas here that you idealized 

What our two lives might now disclose. 

Most sapient oracle, that day 

Your tempting lips gave wisdom vent; 
Affection ever finds a way 

When from the soul of each 'tis sent; 
This brook, ice bound by arctic cold. 

Lies passive till its thaw-love come. 
Then off it whisks, down plain and wold 
As though 'twere never cold and dumb. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 113 

Come, place your muffless hand beneath 

My rough coat arm, and stamp your toes; 
Home bound, the wind is in our teeth 

And soon 'twill roseate your nose; 
In verdure days 3^ou lagged along 

As though the waning eve should pause; 
Perhaps the Katy-Did's drone song, 

The moon, and I were triple cause. 

The way up-hill is ours to take, 

Though life-storms beat in face or back. 
Till when, a long time off, we wake 

To find we're stepping down its track; 
Those slipping feet of yours suggest 

The ills, the cares that we may know; 
But trust in me for aid and rest. 

Which you, dear, never fail to show. 

The sun-sped hour has cast a shade 

That soon will start the candle-lights; 
If evening meal be undelayed 

'Twill set our inner works to rights ; 
When once you're in your comfort-gown 

Before the logs, already fired. 
You'll not regret the long walk down 

The river-side, nor think you're tired. 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

Before me, on the study wall, 

A painted sketch is hanging, 
That wakes remembrance, like a call 

From village church bells clanging; 
A rough stone house, with ivy decked 

From base to roof's red tiling. 
Which to the ridge is thickly specked 

By shading elm's defiling. 



114 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

'Tis haunted, haunted by the ghosts 

Of those who've crossed the river, 
And those, the younglings, on strange coasts, 

Which welcome labor's giver; 
Dear heart — thoughts have I for the place. 

For those who live, those yonder. 
And as the picture's lines T trace 

My love for each grows fonder. 



A SUMMER STORM. 

The welcome signs of rain at last! 
The sun-parched streets feel like a blast 
Of stoke-hole air; refracted heat 
From face to face of buildings meet, 
And wilted, jaded man and beast 
Move languidly along; the least 
Exertion taps each ready pore 
And bathes the drooping body o'er 
From fevered head to burning feet, 
And still beats down the humid heat. 

A hollow puff of weak wind blows 

The surface dust; a black cloud throv/n 

Its shadow down, and in the street 

Is seen a hurrying of feet; 

A muffled, rumbling sound is heard; 

Again the blinding dust is stirred, 

And semi-darkness, like a pall, 

O'er all bespreads; a sudden squall 

Inrushes, shrieking, snapping things, 

As though they were but cobweb strings. 

A livid flash of heaven's fire 

Zigzags through space, and Jove's great lyre 

Sounds thund'rous tones, as though they'd burst 

The sullen sky; the dying thirst 

Of long-parched earth is being quenched; 

Its wide, devouring gullet's drenched 

With solid rain, which springs a foot's 

Height off the flags, like bright gray nuts. 

The vivid flashes now grow slack; 

The small-bore cloud-guns answer back; 

And far and farther they retire 

While earth smiles in her cool attire. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 115 

THE FALL OF THE YEAR. 

To-day, while the zenith approaching sun 

Shines over the sparkling tide, 
I dawdle, as often before I've done, 

In peace by the water wide; 
The wind-driven ripples, like diamonds set 
In brightest enamel, with morning-dew wet, 
Dance hither and yon, as if sorely beset 

In finding the margin's side. 

The leaves from the sloping bank, whirling down 

From thinning boughs overhead, 
Are faded from sap-health to withered brown, 

And curl round the parent bed; 
While some, outward borne to the lake's restless breast, 
Are, sprayed by the ripples, in fresh color dressed, 
As spirits elect, reaching heavenly rest, 

With beauty are overspread. 

The place seems a-lonely since Summer fled; 

The swallows have flown away; 
The blooms of a little while back are dead; 

No fisher-lads hither stray; 
The shooters are out at their slaughtering sport. 
And coveys are scattered at each loud report; 
The frosty-tang'd eves grow unpleasantly short 

As day follows after day. 

And yet, though a feeling of sadness comes 

To one, from pervading gloom, 
A rapid walk over the leafy scums 

Brings pleasure and cheeks abloom. 
The squirrels are out for their nutty- food store; 
A woodpecker's tapping a tall sycamore; 
And ground-hogs are seeking new nest-sites to bore. 

Which winter will soon entomb. 



SUNSET. 



The orb of day has sunk below 
The brilliant sky-line, all aglow 
With rainbow tints, ten-fold, at least, 
In depth and density increased. 



ii6 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

More grandeur mortal never viewed, 
More wonderful in magnitude; 
Its thrilling beauty penetrates 
And lifts the soul to Heaven's gates. 

Where may those wished-for gates be found 
In all celestial space around? 
"Oh, seek not, mole, with purblind eyes, 
Life's mysteries/' Mind's voice replies. 

Then, Mind, give rein to restless thought 
And let it wander, bound by naught, 
For never can it go amiss 
While soaring toward yon scenes of bliss. 

That dark sea there, whose tangent pales, 

Is where the unseen angel sails 

The spirit passengers across, 

When jetsoned from all earthly dross. 

Straight through the orange tide they go 
Into the amber's sparkling flow. 
By shores of pale, translucent green. 
With cirrus islets shoaled between. 

They now emerge into a lake 
Of coppery gold, and upward take 
A course due north, until they veer 
Into an ocean silvery clear, 

O'er which a cloud of amethyst 
Is showering its brilliant mist. 
And slowly fading, on they steer 
Into the dark — and disappear. 

Return to earth, O restless Thought, 
'Tis all thou'lt fmd of what thou'st sought ; 
Like straying birds that loved to roam. 
Which storms beat o& from seeing home, 

Thy forced endeavors all are vain. 
And darkness deepens with each strain; 
The pearly gates thine eyes may see 
When waked to immortality! 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 117 

DARK DAYS. 

Dark days are these which dawn on eyes 

That long to greet the smiling skies; 

The leaden vapor, like a pall, 

Hangs o'er the silent land, and all 

Of Nature's loveliness reflects 

Its gloom, e'en as a frown injects 

Into a tender sonl a shade 

Of grief, when by a loved one made. 

The gloomiest days of Nature's guise, 
The fiercest hours of battl'ing skies, 
Are not, to lives, a tithe's small part 
Compared to those which wrench the heart; 
The clashing clouds, the fire-slashed air, 
And thunderous tones breed not despair, 
For they're for life's good — soon they pass, 
But love grown cold! alas, alas! 



THE ORCHARD FENCE. 

It's many a year since they set me out here 

To border the cow-trodden tracks, 
Which cut in between the south pasturage green. 

The orchard and low meadow stacks; 
And fairly I've done, both in storm-shock and sun. 

Throughout ev'ry hour of the time; 
Though shrunken somevN^hat, a decrepit I'm not. 

But steady as when in my prime. 

In river-side wood a young locust I stood 

'Mid ranks that were healthy and old, 
Ere those growing now had a branch or a bough 

The wee-tenant things to uphold; 
And mem'ry recalls the beasts' night caterwauls. 

The hoots of the prowling owl thieves; 
The squirrels' snug bunk in the crotch of my trunk, 

And jo3^ous bird-trills 'mid my leaves. 



ii8 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

The woodmen, strong backed, at my sturdy base hacked 

In trying to bring my crown low, 
For long the ax-blade to my vitals was laid, 

With death nearing every blow; 
And when the last cut in my body was pnt, 

I tottered, bent o'er with a moan, 
Then down with a crash, tearing through an old ash, 

I dropped with a finishing groan. 

And here I am now — though I hardly know how — 

As post-poles and wedge-severed tees. 
To keep cattle out, and lads, loafing about. 

From rifling the fruit-laden trees; 
And well it's been done since the hour 'twas begun. 

And well it will be while I last; 
For all locust-kind are to long life inclined. 

Their service is never outclassed. 

What changes I've seen in the seasons I've been 

A rampier to the old land! 
The toilers then here never now reappear 

At seed-time or harvest's demand; 
But children of theirs, aye, and their children's heirs. 

Now foster the parent bought ground; 
They're here for a day, then away and decay! 

Like wind-shaken fruit lying round. 

I've often been stirred by the love-tales I've heard 

In silence and moonlight combined; 
The wind, tattling tongue, friendly since I was young. 

Confided them to my old mind; 
And then, I declare, that I felt I'd a share 

In something, of all things the best, 
Which made me from thence a contented old fence, 

To work till I drop to my rest. 
-5^ 

AFTER THE RAIN. 

The cloudy screens had blown away 

And showed a sky that promised fair. 
When two there were, one autumn day. 

Who strolled along, a happy pair; 
Your eyes were bright, your cheeks were red. 

Your steps were light, your voice a flute, 
That made a triller overhead 

'Mid shady green, sing low, grow mute. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 119 



And you remember what occurred 

When I my love-speared arrow sped? 
Since then I've treasured ev'ry word, 

Can say by rote just what you said! 
Can see the snaky, gray fence rails. 

The maple leaves with first frost red, 
The sun's gold disk, its setting trails, 

And rutted road that homeward led. 



^- 



A VISION OF SIN. 

When night was garbed in ebon gown 

And lights were flaming everywhere, 
When nimble feet passed up and down 

The streets that led from here and there, 
A Something grasped me by the hand, 

A clammy hand it was, and cold. 
And dragged me on as if 't had planned 

Surprise or pleasure to unfold. 

High on an ancient church's spire 

It wafted me; the streets below 
Seemed like canons of lambent fire, 

With pigmies marching to and fro; 
The houses all transparent were; 

Whate'er the inmates said or did 
Required no tongued interpreter. 

For speech was plain, and naught was hid. 

I saw a home from room to room. 

Where taste was shown 'mid wealth's display, 
Where, save for hirelings, 'twas a tomb 

In which a life-tired sufferer lay; 
I saw the shade of Death's damp pall 

Upon his brow and sunken cheek, 
And heard his weak delirious call 

For gold, gold, till too low to speak. 

At once I lost, or seemed to lose, 

A cherished wish for worldly wealth; 
Then joys of life, if mine to choose. 

Embraced but love and peace and health. 
Another, in a street above. 

Were children romping, undenied. 
And parents frolicked v/ith each love. 

While dignity was laid aside. 



I20 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Where happy grandmamma was drawn 

Into the games the youngsters played; 
Like Night she was, absorbed by Dawn, 

And they like sunbeams round a shade; 
My eyes then turned to scenes I knew, 

Mad revels blackening the night; 
I shut my lids, as children do 

When they would hide some hideous sight. 

But through the blinds upon my sight 

The once alluring tableaux shone. 
In which I revelled with delight 

When Satan claimed me as his own: 
"O Thing," I cried, ''O Fiend of ill, 

What thou dost mean's a mystery; 
Thou turn-spit of my weakened will, 

No more, no more such scenes for me. 

"I know not why thy power is used 

On one who ne'er has seen thy face, 
On one whose torpid mind's abused 

By foulness, at this time and place; 
If fate decrees that I must yet 

Of all thy unclean sights partake, 
That I thy mandates must abet, 

Here, sear my eyes, for pity's sake! 

'*I plead, implore thee, tempt me not. 

For I am weak, so very weak! 
I've scourged each soul-debasing plot 

Of leprous thought, licentious reak, 
Since last the downward paths I walked, 

Since last my low desires were in 
Thy vicious ways, o'er which I stalked. 

To serve the weaknesses within. 

"And must I now, at thy behest, 

Turn willing eyes and urging mind 
To scenes I've labored to detest? 

Though evil nature seems inclined; 
To turn from peace and blessedness 

To ways accursed of thine and thee. 
From pure desires to evilness, 

And damn'd be for eternity? 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 121 

"God's grace? Avaunt! no power of thine 

Shall tear me from His care apart; 
I ban thee by the cross's sign, 

Thus: on my eyes, my lips, my heart!" 
The Thing, the Fiend, the Mystery, 

Like lightning-flash dissolved, and then — 
The priest intoned "Pax Domini" 

The choir responded A-a-men. 



-Jf- 



DREAMS. 

Unstable figments of a restless brain. 
Abnormal fancies wrought by tireless strain, 
Which, like the shut-off of a boiler's steam 
When turned or jarred, starts up the engine's beam. 
Whirls round the governor, from inertion freed, 
And starts the shafting to increasing speed. 
Till wheels, velocity of lathe's full powers 
Revolve as in the work-days' busy hours. 

Fantastic, grave, gay, wondrously designed 
Are slum'brous visions of unguided mind; 
The ocean, mountain, earth, air, sun and star. 
Love, hate, joy, sorrow, all their subjects are; 
Nor time has limitings, nor space an end 
That mind in dreams cannot to both extend. 
And leave impressions of its pleasure, pain, 
When wakened sense comes into power again. 



■4f- 



THE NEW AND OLD YEAR. 

'Tis not so very long ago 

Since first we came together; 
A year ago it was to-night. 

And it was snowy weather; 
I lolled upon an old settee 

Before this cheerful ingle, 
Half dreaming in a hazy way 

While making smoke-rings mingle. 



122 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

A bell rang down the frosty night, 

And then a noisy pounding 
Of drums, with horns and corn-creek squeaks, 

Was in the air resounding; 
I flung the window shutters back. 

The icy blast was stinging, 
When in there popped a rosy youth 

While all the bells were ringing. 

He shook the white flakes from his. locks. 

That dangled round his shoulders 
In wayward curls, like Autumn's tint 

Of gold on ash-hued bowlders ; 
And round the room so gayly danced, 

His eyes with young life beaming. 
That from my mind he chased the dull 

Material of my dreaming. 

Come, take your ease, my lively lad, 

While I poke up the embers ; 
A flame to warm the chill you brought 

Is food for life's Decembers ; 
I'll set the kettle on the fire. 

And we"ll sip tea together. 
While you may tell me who you are 

And why you braved this weather. 

Nay, nay, you must not shake your head ; 

I'm called a willing body. 
So if no tea you'll drink, why, then 

I'll brew a weak, sweet toddy; 
You will not speak, whate'er I say? 

Then I must take to guessing: 
You are New Year, you smiling rogue ! 

Here's to you, with my blessing ! 

Then off he skipped to banish care, 

Bring hope to other creatures ; 
For who could e'er resist the joy 

Bright beaming in his features? 
That was one year ago to-night. 

Last moment of December; 
Alas ! for promises unkept. 

Which grieve us to remember. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 123 



And now, old man, am I to trust, 

Without being thought a ninny. 
That you are he, all worn and bowed, 

So gray, and weak, and skinny? 
That you, who tottered to my door, 

With eyes a-bleared and leaking 
And fingers palsied, were the youth 

Of whom you've heard me speaking? 

There's nothing in your face or form 

That may be deemed o'er-pleasing; 
Come to the fire, I could not turn 

A cat out in this freezing; 
Here, take this steaming potion down 

While toasting your poor bent bones; 
The year is in his dying throes — 

Hark ! how the chimney-vent moans. 

The sashes rattle in their grooves; 

The trees' bare limbs are swaying; 
Electric wires are screeching wild 

At what the wind is saying; 
The surges clash against the cliffs, 

Swept on by boreal pinions; 
King Neptune, in right royal state, 

Rides o'er his foamed dominions. 

Sweet pity dwell with those to-night 

Who lack a warming shelter! 
With all afloat on weak-ribbed ship 

Where angry waters pelt her; 
For the old year is dying hard 

And vents his spleen with vigor. 
As round and round the minute nears 

That drops the striking trigger. 

Ah! poor old wreck, you shiver so 

As tick by tick is sounding; 
Pray let me fold you in my arms, 

With warmth and life abounding; 
How sharp and feebly now you gasp 

As midnight-bells are swinging! 
Great saints! he shrivels into naught 

Just as the twelfth is ringing. 



124 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

A HAZY MORNING. 

Oppressive, moist with grayish haze, 

The day comes in; the sky is dull; 
A languor hovers o'er the ways 

As though the hour were sorroAvful ; 
Ere long the wind will dissipate 

The unshed tears in morning's eyes, 
As Mirth, from mind disconsolate, 

Disperses doleful thoughts and sighs. 



A VALLEY VILLAGE. 

Environed by majestic hills there lies a peaceful valley, 
Where nature all her beautiful and charming work dis- 
plays. 
In decking mead and fallow-land, sequestered nook and 
alley. 
With buds and perfumed blossoms in a thousand beau- 
teous ways. 

Where many birds of varied plume their roundelays are 
singing 
From morn to dewy evening hour in summer's joyous 
time. 
Amid the sighing foliage and on the tree-tops swinging, 
Their merry voices mingle in a sweet harmonious 
rhyme. 

The bleating sheep and lowing kine, with lazy motion 
grazing 
Among the fragrant clover leaves, the dandelion and 
grass, 
Anon they raise their dreamy eyes, in seeming sleepy 
gazing. 
To watch the sportive lambkins play, and butterflies 
that pass. 

The agile rabbit, ears erect, with nimble stride is bound- 
ing 
Along the fence and thorny bushes, hedging many a 
rood. 
Scared by a falling footstep or a farmhouse tin horn 
sounding, 
Recalling in the laborers to eat their noontide food. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 125 

The tortuous and narrow road that leads into the valley 

Appears like dusty silver in the bright rays of the day; 

And sweating teams and wayfarers quite often rest and 

dally 

Beneath the giant oaks and pines that grow along the 

way. 

The other side is bounded by a hedge of berry bushes, 
With branches drooping heavily beneath their rip'ning 
load, 
With here and there an opening through which a crab- 
tree pushes 
Its tempting fruit to longing ones who jog along the 
road. 



Through deep ravines and mossy banks a rivulet is flow- 
ing, 
Enticing to its bosom leaves and blossoms on the way. 
Meandering and purling as it glides along, bestowing 
A passing kiss to drooping buds, to save them from de- 
cay. 

Around a rock that midway stands, like sentinel on duty, 
The floating weeds are gathered, that were carried by 
the tide, 
And tangled in their tufty stalks are many leaves of 
beauty. 
By cruel winds transported from their parent stems, 
they died. 

And farther down the stony road and winding way we 
follow, 

A pleasant vista greets the eye, enrapturing the gaze. 
Away beyond the well tilled land, half hidden in a hollow, 

A village lies emblazoned in the sun's effulgent rays. 

A windmill's turning slowly in the gentle breeze a-blowing. 
Its canvas wings outstretching from the causeway are 
espied ; 
A farmer's tandem amblingly along the road is going. 
And carelessly the driver trudges by the pole steers 
side. 



126 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

The reigning silence gives the heart a feeling calm and 
holy, 
And time and place withdraws the mind from carking 
care and strife; 
No thought of the to-morrow, but in meditation solely. 
We revel in the distant past, the roseate hours of life. 

O blissful years of childhood ! how we dearly love to ponder 
O'er all thy evanescent joys, which time the more en- 
dears, 
How often mem'ry turns to thee, wherever we may wan- 
der, 
And conjures back the pleasant times and scenes of 
early years ! 

In yonder lane the school-house stood, with shingled roof 
decaying, 
Where twittering sparrows built their nests beneath the 
moss-grown spout, 
And flew around the noisy crowd of merry children play- 
ing, 
In noontide hour of liberty when girls and boys were 
out. 

O, never sworded veteran in history or story 

Marched to the field of battle with more seriousness 
than we; 
With sticks for guns, imagined drums, and paper-flags, 
in glory 
We strutted bravely through the lane to meet the 
enemy. 

We'd stand at ease, and rest our arms, then bring them 
to a shoulder, 
We'd face about and march away, our captain in the 
van; 
We'd halt, retreat, advance again and storm a post or 
bowlder, 
Nor quarter give the enemy, but slaughter ev'ry man ! 

The battle-dore and shuttle-cock, with football, racing, 
pitching. 
And hide and seek and follow lead had each their vo- 
taries. 
While fox and geese and skipping rope, embroidering and 
stitching. 
Gave pleasant recreation underneath the chestnut trees. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 127 

And when the too short hour was past and all the games 
were ended. 
When balls and tops were hidden from the teacher's 
watchful eye, 
The pencil's busy scratching with the treble voices blended, 
Through A, B, C, and upward till the study hours went 
by. 

Ah me ! where is the boist'rous throng, where are the 
blooming faces? 
Where now the friends and playmates all, the years of 
young life gave? 
But few we see, of others hear, in strange and distant 
places. 
While many've crossed the portals of the ever waiting 
grave. 

The master, rest his ashes ! "sleeps the sleep that knows 
no waking," 
His smileless face has vanished, all his noble labor's 
done, 
No more will hapless truant boys appear before him quak- 
ing, 
In fear of condign punishment — the sequence of their 
fun. 

No more the birchen rod will sting the timid hand ex- 
tended, 
No more the chronic culprit needs defend his poor be- 
hind, 
Nor girl transgressors fret and fume for playing spells 
suspended, 
When crowned with cone-like paper cap, for punish- 
ment designed. 

No more behind the ancient desk, with inky stains be- 
spattered, 
We'll see him frown upon us from his elevated stool ; 
Vacation's come, his class is out, his pupils all are scat- 
tered, 
And other boys and teachers fill our places in the school. 

There is the little wooden church with unpretending 
steeple, 
Apd leading to its ivied porch, the path we often trod 
While listening to its clanging bell, when ringing for the 
people 
To haste and offer up their prayers collectively to God. 



128 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

And when the solemn Sabbath comes, along the roads are 
wending 
The old and young, the poor and rich, to hear the words 
divine; 
From far and near the farm and cot their occupants are 
sending, 
To worship in that sacred place at morn and vespertine. 

The aged servant of the Lord, his white locks few and 
straying, 
With fervid voice appeals to Heaven for mercy, love and 
grace ; 
In words of simple eloquence to the Most High he's pray- 
ing, 
While meekness and benevolence irradiate his face. 

The organs soft and sweet prelude upon the ear is steal- 
ing 
Like angel voices whispering it floats upon the air, 
And now a simple anthem through the sanctuary pealing, 
Proclaims that Jesus died to save His people every- 
where. 

Down from the altar, slowly down, the good man's feebly 
walking. 
The children hasten to him and he greets them with a 
smile, 
He tries to understand them while the little ones are talk- 
ing 
All together as they press around him in the narrow 
aisle. 

He calls them his beloved lambs and gives to each his 

blessing. 
Neglecting not the bashful child who stands behind the 
crowd, 
He pats the little curly head and kindly words addressing. 
Wins still another tender one who speaks his joy aloud. 

The village dames and farmers' wives confabulate to- 
gether 
Of sundry gains and, losses on the season's eggs and 
cheese ; 
Apart, their daughters criticise the newest hat and feather. 
And look their very prettiest, their favored swains to 
please. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 129 

O bloom of youthful hope and love, O days of roseate 
dreaming ! 
Sweet time to which fond mem'ry clings with change- 
less constancy ! 
What is there in the whole wide world of man's most 
high esteeming, 
That e'er can give unto the soul such heavenly ecstacy? 

The stolen look, the tell-tale blush, o'er brow and cheek 
suffusing, 
When glance meets glance, revealing all that either heart 
would know; 
The joy of that brief space of time, when she of love's 
own choosing 
Responds, is worth a decade of all others here below. 

Anon they seek a lonely walk to hold sweet conversation, 
Or 'neath the shady trees repeat their glowing tales of 
love. 
Or silently by wild thyme banks weave dreams of its crea- 
tion. 
The sweetest, heaven born dream of dreams that human 
mind ere wove. 

Behind the church, o'er weedy graves, a lonely man is 
seeking 
Upon the worn old head-stones some dear name he can- 
not find^ 
He reads the blurred inscriptions of the many round him 
sleeping. 
And mutters words that sadly prove a poor, demented 
mind. 

From day to day he vainly seeks till darkness ends his 
labors, 
At morning light returning, on the hopeless task intent; 
He shuns all sympathizing aid and keeps aloof from neigh- 
bors. 
Who proffer little kindnesses his comfort to augment. 

"He loved and lost," the wise ones say, who know his sad 
condition. 
He loved a dark eyed maiden with alluring, fickle 
smiles. 
Who lured him on to speak his love, and then her high 
ambition 
Exposed a cold and sordid heart brimful of studied 
wiles. 



130 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

■ i. 

He left her in a bitter mood, still nursing his delusion; 

"She means to test thy constancy," infatuation said, 
And transitory anger changed into the loved illusion 

Which holds his mind in thraldom even though his rea- 
son's fled. 

He deems she sleeps mid yonder graves, but knows not 
the location — 
By what strange freak the thoughts were born 'twere 
hard to well explain; 
For soon she left the vale, a bride possessed of wealth and 
station, 
And never since that distant day returned to it again. 

Fair dawned the pleasant morning when, with all the 
world before us. 
We drove along the valley in its summer bloom attired, 
And parted from the home and friends that time can ne'er 
restore us, 
In search of fame and fortune, all too empty when ac- 
quired. 

O, blissful years of childhood ! how we dearly love to pon- 
der- 
O'er all thy evanescent joys, which time the more en- 
dears, 
How oft the heart will turn to thee wherever we may 
wander, 
And bring our mem'ry back again to scenes of early 
years ! 



AN HOUR AMID THE HEATHER. 

Under a tree in a city yard 

I swung, on a morning calm and fair, 
And revelled in scenes of Scotia's Bard, 

While screened with leaves from the sun's bright glare. 

The bells of a many churches near 

W^ere clanging their brazen voices loud; 
The sparrows were chirping sharp and clear 

While shouts came in from a street-boy crowd. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 131 

And as I conned the unlabored lines — 

Forgetting the moist midsummer heat — • 
Away I strayed where the woodbine twines, 

With soft, cool heather beneath my feet. 

By wimplin burns with their shining trout; 

By hawthorne bloomings on Logan Braes; 
By lav'rocks singing all round about, 

And heath-cock coveys in lonely ways. 

I doused my feet in the cooling Ayr 

While cushats cooed in the near-by dells ; 

I spied tht hawk, swooping unaware 
Upon the plover, in yarrow fells. 

I tracked the plow o'er the stubble field 
And saw the mousie's wee house laid low; 

The simple daisy it's brief life yield, 
And heard the voice of the plowman's woe. 

I watched the linnet in breckan glen 

Her fledglings coax from the nestling beech ; 

The partridge scud to mother wing, when 

The goss flew over, with fright'ning screech. 

I trod the banks of the bonny Doon, 

Where Highland Mary weaved love's young dream ; 
And viewed the witches, in black o' moon. 

Chase ale-filled Tam to the running stream. 

I've been the guest in a peasant's cot 

And learned of hardship that to it drifts ; 
IVe eaten meals from the haggis pot, 

And heard the grace the guidman uplifts. 

I've sat with merry lads in tap-rooms, 

And joined their lilts, of the poet's brain; 
I've seen them wobble, in evening glooms, 
To straw-thatched cabins in wood and lane. 

I've waded streams of the fadeless rhyme, 

With sorrow at times, most with delight. 
From depths debasing to heights sublime, 

Where shines the "Cotter's Saturday Night." 



132 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Great Nature's singer, auld Scotia's pride, 
The round world's own, as each age departs; 

The land grew mute when his sweet voice died, 
But left its echo in people's hearts ! 

While heather brightens the braes and moors, 

While lynn's white foam through the streamlet churns. 

While birdies warble and song endures, 
True poesy's laird is Robbie Burns. 



-H- 



CLOUDS. 

The black-packed clouds that morning showed, 

By noon had fairly passed away, 
As though an aerial tide had flowed 

And merged them in its foaming spray ; 
So joy may be immersed in grief, 

So hope may seem forever past, 
But Time's swift flow brings sure relief 

To lives with darkness overcast. 



^■ 



FROM RURAL LANES TO MANDALAY. 

Long years have passed, and this the scene: — 

The wildings bloomed along the way; 

The fields with dried-cut grass were gray; 

The hedges wore their spring array; 

The sky was flecked, the hills were green. 

The wind-stirred leaves on aspen, beech. 

Kept Nature's time to bird songs sweet, 

And joy was born with ev'ry beat; 

Leal vows were pledged, and lips would meet 

Without a needless waste of speech. 

What mattered it that hers and mine 
Had nourished anger, each for each? 
The land had scarce an acre's reach 
Whose boundaries had caused the breach. 
Which linear links failed to define. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 133 

And that was why her brother's wrath 
Was poured upon us in the lane. 
Which sister's love could not restrain; 
He had been tippling — that was plain — 
And barred the way along the path. 

E'en then the trouble might have passed, 
Had he not swished the short-lashed whip 
He handled with unsteady grip, 
And cut my love from ear to lip, 
Which roused the demon in me fast. 

With tight clenched fist, a half arm swing 
Alighted square on chin and jaw, 
Which dropped him like a wisp of straw; 
Then one in tears and one in awe 
Helped to revive the rum-wild thing. 

With malediction, threat'ning frown, 

He spurred his horse through Ferndale Brake; 

We dreaded the true tale he'd make; 

I begged of her, for love's sweet sake. 

To fly and wed in Norwich Town. 

But, no; she'd wait a few months more. 

With trust that all would turn out right 

When chance or change should make things bright; 

Meantime we'd meet, or, failing, write 

Clandestinely, as oft before. 

We parted 'neath the cypress spears, 
With many a long embrace and true. 
And vowed, whate'er their hate might do, 
Our faith should last till peace ensue, 
And joy upspring from sorrow's tears. 

They found the secret letter place, 

And then was capped her misery! 

To cloister school in Italy 

They hied her, all unknown to me — 

Who'd sought her long but found no trace. 

Our regiments to Mandalay 

Were ordered; there we showed our best 

In fort and field and rebel quest — 

As all the chronicals attest — 

For three years, even, to a day. 



134 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

There, face to face we met again 
Where bullets whizzed from dawn to dark; 
From crags and shelt'ring rocks they'd bark 
And snipe, at times, a sworded mark, 
And there he dropped, before his men. 

When stretchered in, he asked to see 
His erst opponent of the lane; 
And though in paroxysm of pain, 
He gasped, in sentences quite plain, 
The best of all good news to me: — 

"She lived, unchanged by parent threats; 

By exile in Italia's Rome; 

By argument of kin at home; 

But pined for one beyond the foam 

Who wore his country's epaulettes. 

"Her sadness won the mother's aid 
To quell the old feud out of hand; 
The good old vicar took the stand: — 
'Each house should own but half the land'; 
'Twas so agreed, and peace was made." 

O, yes, dear, it is all quite true; 
Your doting mother there was she; 
Your talkative old dad was he; 
The brother, prince of uncles, see 
Is that bluff Major teasing you. 



ASTERS. 



In June when roses were in bud. 

Between the stems were seedlings set; 
Soon side by side the queen flowers stood. 

Distilling sweets in dry and wet; 
In mid September all were fled. 

But under, over, round each bush 
A crowd of asters bloomed instead. 

An eye-joy in their brilliant flush. 
And this trite thought occurred to me 

While clouds were dark and flowers bright: 
If Time be used as it should be^ 

Its guerdon well repays foresight. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 135 

A FOREST SPRING. 

A fountain bubbles in the dim 

Deep forest ways, so cool and clear. 
That woodland tenants seek its rim. 

To drink and prink, sans fear; 
It trickles down the land's lush breast, 

It sparkles in the sunny beams, 
It purls hard by a woodchuck's nest, 

And down a cliff side teems. 

It struggles with the frothy flow 

Of many home-deserting rills; 
It chatters with them as they go 

Beneath the frowning hills; 
It babbles on by thrifty farms, 

Where ruddy toil and plenty rest; 
By buzzing mills, whose countercharms 

The trodden banks attest. 

Above the rushing current's noise. 

Where it springs down on moss green rocks. 
Arise the shouts of bathing boys, 

When falling water knocks 
Their sunburnt necks and white-skinned spines ; 

Then swippers on by boggy waste 
And round a bend of scraggy pines. 

Where stepping-stones are placed. 

Bound in a deep and broader bed, 

A nobler task it now fulfills 
In bearing freighted boats, instead 

Of dawd'ling in the hills. 
In calm and storm, unceasingly, 

Its sparkle buried in the waves, 
It journeys to its destiny 

As mortals to their graves. 



-5f 



THE BEAUTIFUL BRONX. 

When the Summer days are bright 
And the lea's are decked with blooms. 

Oft' I wander in delight 
Through the Bronx's woodland glooms; 



136 BRAMBLES AND TWIG S OF SONG 

But of all the scenes I know, 
There is none that can compare 

With its river's gentle flow, 
And its slopings wild and fair. 

Far away the upland springs, 

Ever purling as they flow. 
Freshen all the sylvan things 

Growing in their course below, 
Where they meet and mingle all 

Like an army merging ranks. 
Ere they rush o'er rocks and fall, 

Till they lap old Bronx's banks. 

Pleasant is the cooling shade 

By the peaceful river's side, 
Where wind-lullabys are made 

In the trees, o'erhanging wide; 
Where the flaky, blue-white sky 

Pierces through the rustling sprays, 
And the restless birds wing by 

While you think of vanished days. 

Dreaming things perhaps that give 

Life its pleasures, love its powers — 
Tender joy it was to live 

In her smile those blissful hours ; 
Here she sat, and thus she said. 

This the air she lilted then; 
Ah ! the happiness she shed 

Never can come back again! 

Banks and braes of bonnie Doon, 

Oft' I've heard your praises sung. 
Oft your sheen, in sun and moon, 

Seasoned love when life was young; 
But ye never were more sweet, 

Never heard a tale more dear. 
Never knew love more complete. 

Than this river nurtured here. 

When the low descending sun 

Streaks the west with crimson spears, 

Then it is love's tale is spun 
By fond lips, in willing ears ; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 137 

Then it is the list'ning sedge 

Tells the story to the tide, 
Which conveys the kiss-sealed pledge 

To the flowers along Bronx side. 



-4f- 



A MOUNTAIN STREAM. 

Bright, shallow stream, you chatterer! 

In snow-thaw time you never stop; 
You tatterer, and flatterer 

Of baby springtime's tender crop! 
You tear the hearts of clinging roots 

On margins, in your lowland rush, 
Then kiss and fondle other shoots 

Of sprouting things, you cannot crush. 

But when you reach the flood below, 
Which makes the river wide and deep, 

The pressure that you'll undergo 
Will change your monotone a heap; 

Your rippled face, and babbling tongue, 

And fickle nature, all must go 

To lose your littleness among 

The greater streams that seaward flow. 



THE BELLS OF SAGUANAY. 

Oh, listen to the chiming of the bells of Saguanay! 
How mellow, sweet and pleasing they descend upon 
the ear 
Like echo-sounding callings of loved voices far away. 
Which wake the chords of memory, and other days 
are here! 

O blithesome bells, O tender bells, O thrilling bells ! to me 

The music of the world around is harsh, compared 

with thine, 
For all the sounds of early life, that wove its melody, 
Are playing in thy vibrant heart, and send them out 

to mine! 



138 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

I rest recumbent on the grass, the fresh grass of the 
year. 
Whose spear-blades spring from out the roots I 
romped o'er long ago, 
And over it whir restless birds, of tribes I knew when 
here 
A moon's full cycle round of time — of nineteen years 
or so. 

Stretch out, O labor-knotted limbs, roll, body, on the 
green; 
Sing out your sweetest, laggard tongue, the joy a glad 
song tells; 
Gaze round about, delighted eyes, for never have you 
seen 
A place so loved, on God's green earth, as this, with 
chiming bells! 

% ■ 



THE DESERTED HOUSE. 

As a poor wayfarer who, tired and old, 
Lags on his journey, weary of the way, 

Drops in a shaded nook of leaf-soft mold 

To rest his bones, and leaves them there for aye. 

So this tree-shaded house of age-worn ribs. 

With moss-spread roof, save where of shingles bare, 

Stands shrivelled, stained by many a season's dribs 
Of storm and sunshine, worthless of repair. 

The gate, unhinged, lies sunk among rank weeds; 

The porch floor shakes and squeeks when trodden on; 
The door sags downward, for the brace it needs; 

The window cords are rotted, glasses gone. 

If it could speak, could tell its history 

Since first the beams were laid upon its base. 

Perhaps 'twould tell of life's tranquility. 

Of love and peace which reigned within the place. 

Here by the windows with their unstrung shades. 
Perchance a fair young bride would oft be seen 

With kerchiefed head, whose cloth no spot evades 
Till from the highway's dust the panes were clean. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIG S OF SONG 139 

And here her voice would reach in simple air. 
As household duties varied through the day; 

And on the porch at eve, with rose in hair, 

She'd greet her spouse in love's delightful way. 

Anon the years slipped by and left therein 
The flowers of parents' joy, immortal souls, 

Who, in due course, went forth to strive, to win 
Their niche in life among the world's great sholes. 

So time went by; long mateless, silver tressed, 
The erst young bride, her stint of duty done. 

Like peace personified pass'd to her rest 
As slowly sank the day's departing sun. 



-H- 



A TRAGIC INCIDENT. 

A house collapsed; a man by girders trapped; 

The iron pressing out his weakening breath; 
No time to waste in asking how it happed; 

Hear, hear him moan to be released from death! 
How long, how long! and none the danger dares 

To give relief, to raise the killing weight; 
Thank Heaven! an ambulance externe prepares 

To take the risk of aiding ere too late. 

Loud clangs an engine's gong, the firemen rush 

With axes, hooks, and ladders to the scene; 
A crowd of onlookers apart they push, 

And work their way to where he last was seen; 
The doctor, coming 'neath a shaking wall. 

Delayed to say the man an hour might live. 
Meanwhile 'twere well, and wisdom's part tocall 

His wife or friend — that's the advice he'd give. 

A black-eyed, swarthy son of Italy, 

No speech was his but that of his bright land. 
And in its tones was heard, most pleadingly, 

A wish for cleric he could understand; 
A sacerdos arrived in panting haste. 

And sought the stricken, knelt close by his side, 
Gave the last rites, a crucifix he placed 

To the poor lips, and prayed thus as he died: 



140 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

"Pater noster, qui es in coelis, sanctificator 
nonem tuam, adveniet regnum tuam ; 
fiat voluntus tua sicut in coelo et in terra; 
panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie; 
et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos 
dimittimus debitoribus nostros ; et ne nos 
inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. 

Amen." 
^ 

WHAT KATY DIDN'T. 

At last the cryptic meaning's known, 

And now the secret's ours, 
The long-locked truth about it all 

Was learned in moonlight hours; 
And now that suffering ears may hear 

The cause of all the flout. 
Perhaps their squabbling may seem worth 

The thing they gab'd about. 

'Twas "Katy did and Katy didn't" 

Through the patient night, 
Affrming here, denying there, 

With all their main and might. 
Till kin and tribe around about 

Awoke and joined the din, 
And then the war was on for good. 

To wage through thick and thin. 

The sentries guarded willow grove 

And through the grasses tramp'd; 
The outposts watched from leafy twigs. 

Round where the legions camp'd; 
And over all, the harvest moon 

Her beams of search-light poured. 
While ceaseless-voiced artillery 

The valiant Katys roared. 

And through the din the crickets creaked 

As if the noise were fun; 
The stingers buzzed excitedly; 

The toads were on the run; 
For locusts' voices, rasping, hoarse. 

Joined in as morning dawned, 
Proclaiming Katy didn't swipe 

The eggs the marsh-frog spawned. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 141 

THE DANCE IN THE BARN. 

I'd much rather dance in the old way to-night, 

As we did on the boarded barn floor, 
Than whirl in this crush, that's so formal, polite, 

As they glide to the triple-time score 
With swishing of silk robes, by swallow-tails led. 

And the sparkle of precious set stones 
On half covered bosoms, with lily white spread 

Over plump busts and cupped collar bones. 

The odor of hay from the loft overhead. 

And its seed dusting down through the cracks; 
The golden-rod, sumach leaves, wild-asters spread 

Round the sides and in implement racks; 
The hearty young girls and the boys, full of fun, 

And the old folks in mixed-up quadrille; 
The food-laden table, when dancing was done. 

Are most pleasant to think about still. 

I'd rather be there with the girls homeward bound. 

With their hands cuddled under our sleeves, 
And hear the grasshoppers at work, grinding sound. 

In the road-weeds and autumn slain leaves, 
And join in the prattle of gladsome young hearts. 

And their songs, ringing through woody bowers, 
Or keep them a-guessing if serious the parts 

That we played, with soft nothings of ours. 

And yet, while we play the lone wall-flower act, 

While the waltzers make hardly a sound, 
'Tis pleasant to see the bright throng so compact, 

And so good natured as they glide round; 
But say what you will, mother, it can't compare 

With the fun we had — not by a darn! 
When you were the rose of the purty girls there, 

Tripping joyfully round the old barn. 



-•H- 



WOODLAND SPRITES. 

In poems olden are found imaginings 

All dainty and well told, 
Of sprites and dryads roaming in the woodlands, 

O'er fallow land and wold. 



142 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

When stars in the concavity were twinkling, 

And oft when luna shone; 
But they were airy fancies seen in dreamings 

By poet folks alone. 

Now here is spun a modern, true narration, 

Without romance or plot. 
At which the gods parnassion might titter 

And dub it silly rot! 
But what care I who know the nook enchanting, 

With cushioned warp and woof 
Of turf-soft leaves and mossy patches round them. 

And sprucy, branching roof. 

Through torrid days a cool, a fair elysium. 

All shaded, ferny sweet; 
And there the dryads two would oft invade it. 

Each bearing daily treat 
Of creamy milk, or lemonade and puff-cake, 

But best of all — themselves. 
Who'd eat and drink and frolic, in pajamas. 

Like chatt'ring, joyous elves. 

One six, one eight, a pair of roly-polys. 

Brown cheeked and cherry lipped, 
As restless as the wood sprites mythologic — 

Whom dreamers state were stripped; 
My locks they'd tousel, twine with vegetation 

And laugh and dance in glee. 
While from my pipe would rise a cloud, incensing 

Their baby comedy. 



■H- 



IN AN ANCIENT CATHEDRAL. 

As an oasis in a desert sand; 

As a ship nearing a marooned at sea ; 
As a friend's greeting in a foreign land. 

This pile, of heaven-born genius, is to me; 
For, in the winding streets and esplanades 

Of this old city, summicr's sun beats down 
Remorselessly, till alien body jades, 

And brain grows dizzy 'neath its shaded crown. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 143 

In this dim sanctuary's spacious aisle, 

Beneath an architrave of wondrous height. 
From glare of day, to rest or pray awhile, 

A motley crowd in one or both unite; 
Stale incense mingles with the heavy air. 

Resulting from a crowded feast-day mass. 
And from a distance sounds an intoned prayer 

By cassocked boys, who genuflect and pass. 

Here gather sects from many distant points — 

The academic, stoic, pharisee. 
And pilgrim Christians, young, and stiff of joints, 

To view the vast cathedral, bend the knee; 
From fields and vineyards come the rainbowed throng 

Whose hob-nailed brogues clack, clang along the 
floor. 
Who at the Virgin's statue linger long, 

Their paters and their aves saying o'er. 

Five centuries of prayers within these walls ! 

Five centuries of pleadings to the Throne! 
Jehovah, Lord, who hearest sinners calls. 

Hear my poor orison, keep me Thine own ! 
Outside there squat, and beg with whine and sign. 

Afflicted sufferers, frauds with self-scarred sores, 
Just as in ages past, in Palestine, 

They cringed by synagogue's highways in scores. 



-^- 



NIGHT. 

All peaceful seems the world o'erhead 

Through the pulsating atmosphere; 

The brilliant, scattered stars appear 

As though by chance they were outspread; 

Their countless lights enchant the eye 

And thrill the mind with wondering thought, 

That night by night since earth was wrought 

From void, they've beamed from the same sky. 

Their number's all but limitless — 
Beyond the grasp of finite mind — 
All computation can but guess 
The myriads of a vaster kind 



144 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Whose gleam in time shall penetrate 
The ether high and this low air, 
And beautify our planet fair 
For eonSj past all estimate. 

They shone as constant, bright and cold 
Upon the fleeing Israelites, 
Who, by the pillared fire o' nights, 
Were led from Egypt's wrath of old; 
And as the present moments fly, 
They shed light on premordial woe 
And hate, and love and goodness show 
Beneath this dusky, quiet sky. 

O, dark-robed trailer of the day, 
Calm Night, with star-bespangled brow, 
'Neath thy concavity we bow 
At thought of Whom comes thy display; 
Far, far beyond thy twinkling eyes, 
Beyond where sight may never roam, 
The Cause Creative of thy dome 
Inspires the soul and thanks arise. 



LYRICAL POEMS 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG i47 



BEWARE. 

(Song.) 

When fair maidens seem most coy, 

Bashful lovers, then beware! 
'Tis the mode that they employ 

Fond hearts to ensnare; 
Ev'ry rosy blush of theirs 

Is a mesh, nor weak nor thin, 
Weaving round you unawares 

Ere they net you in. 

When their bright alluring eyes 

Slyly glance and then retreat, 
Shun the charm that in them lies, 

Be not indiscreet; 
Ev'ry furtive glance of theirs 

Is an artful, acted part 
Of the many cunning snares 

Looped to catch your heart. 

When they breathe a listless sigh, 

As if not a soul were near. 
Well the tempters know you're nigh, 

And 'twill reach your ear; 
Ev'ry careless sigh of theirs 

Gives them trouble to prepare. 
Skillful and enticing players. 

Of their wiles beware. 



COME OUT WITH ME. 

The sky is as blue as a heron's egg, 

Bright eyes ! look upward and see ; 
The walds in their emerald vesture beg 

That you will come out with me ; 
For this is the time when the wood-doves coo 

To win a fair bosomed mate. 
And this is the season for me and you 

The birdies to emulate. 



148 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



NORAH MAVOURNEEN. 

(Song.) 

Norah, mavourneen, my heart's wildly beating, 
To think I must leave you and cross the wide sea. 

The time is advancing, the short hours are fleeting, 
And soon I must part, Norah, darling, from thee. 

It makes my heart sad when I think I must leave you, 

But then it is all for the better, I know. 
So smile on me, darhng, and don't let it grieve you, 

My thoughts will be with you wherever I go. 

Norah, mavourneen, last night a queer notion 

Came into my head as I sat by the door; 
I thought I was tossed on the wild, raging ocean. 

And saw your sweet face, as you stood on the shore. 

I thought, while the wild wind was howling and scream- 
ing, 

I heard your voice calling me over the deep ; 
My heart was nigh breakinsr — I woke from my dreaming. 

And found the old mill-wheel had lulled me to sleep. 

Norah, mavourneen, through joy and through sorrow, 
Your kind, soothing words I can never forget; 

Though it be dark to-day, it may not be to-morrow, 
The gloomiest sun has its moment to set. 

I ever will think of the cot in the valley, 

The pleasures of home it will ever recall, 
And always my mem'ry in gladness will dally 
With you, love, the nearest and dearest of all. 



BRAMBLE S AND TWIGS OF SONG 149 

WINNIE, DARLING. 

(Song.) 

Winnie, darling. I'll be waiting 
'Neath the old oak on the heath, 

Where the lilies deck the margin 

Of the purling brook beneath, 

Where the sparkling water dances 
In the star-lit, limpid stream, 

I will wait and watch thy coming, 
Winnie, dear, love's witching beam. 

Winnie, darling, do not tarry, 

Do not let me wait in vain, 
Hasten o'er the haunted meadow 

And around the moss-grown lane ; 
Trip along, and if in coming 

Thou art seen by fay or sprite, 
They will vanish, for thy beauty 

Far outshines them, heart's delight. 

Winnie, dear, then come I pray thee, 

And I'll crown thee with a wreath, 
Gathered from the sweetest flowers 

That abound upon the heath; 
Come when o'er the orchard railing 

Luna showers her radiance bright. 
Come, dear Winnie, and I'll crown thee 

Queen of maids, my love, my light ! 



A SPANISH SERENADE. 

Beam of the rosy morn ! 

Queen of the sweetest, best ! 
List to thy lover, lorn. 

Breaking thy peaceful rest; 
Up to thy lattice bars 

Hear his song praises rise ; 
Open, and dim the stars 

With thy enchanting eyes, 
Ojos hermosa ! hay! que ojos. 



150 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



SERENADE. 

Sleep, dearest, sleep 

While angels keep 
Watch and ward over thy soothmg repose; 

May gentle rest 

Lie on thy breast 
Lightly as dewdrops upon the bud-rose. 

Sweet thoughts alight 

On thee to-night, 
Gilding thy vision with shadows of bliss ; 

May Paradise 

Ope to thine eyes 
Scenes that thy waking will never dismiss. 

Dream, dearest, dream, 

While Luna's beam 
Peeps through the lattice that hides thee from sight; 

Blow, zephyr, blow, 

Softly and low. 
Into her chamber my parting good-night. 



LOVE'S TIDINGS. 

All through the morning the wind has been singing. 

Singing like voices afar. 
Over the firs it comes, salty tang bringing 

From where my constant thoughts are. 

Would it might bear on air currents outsweeping 

These happy tidings from me : 
"Joy out of travail came, by my side sleeping 

Is the born image of thee." 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 151 



JESSIE ADAIR. 
(Song.) 

Pray tell me, coy Jessie Adair, 

Why 'tis you're so temptingly sweet? 
I know there's no girl anywhere 

So beautiful, modest and neat; 
You keep me a-thinking by day, 

You're all of my dreaming by night, 
O, what can you mean, anyway, 

By filling my life with delight? 

You look so demure when I'm near, 

And lively when others are by. 
That often I think you've a fear 

I'll say that for you I would die; 
But don't to such thought be too kind, 

For Hope hints of good it may give, 
So maybe 'twill enter your mind 

That I'll still adore you and live. 

The door step, now resting your foot, 

Is like a stone heart without love; 
And yet, see the rain-channel cut 

By drops from the tiled roof above; 
So, like the unvarying drips 

That fall on one line from the start, 
I'll love you alway without slips. 

Until I wear into your heart. 



IF I WERE YOU. 

If I were you and you were I, 

I'd teach you how you should love me: — 
You'd ope your arms, and in I'd fly 

And nestle 'gainst your heart with glee; 
I'd thrill your spirit to the core, 

Though all the world were standing by, 
By whisp'ring one dear word or more, 

If I were you, and you were I. 



152 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

DEAR SCENES OF YOUTH. 
(Song.) 

Once more in fancy's idle dream 

Dear scenes of youth have birth, 
And pleasanter by far they seem 

Than other views of earth ; 
Though there are lands with clearer skies 

And fairer scenes to scan, 
There's none that I so dearly prize 

As that where life began. 

A mother at her cottage door, 

A child upon her lap, 
Who pleads to hear some story o'er 

Of frolic or mishap. 
And now with pleasure, now surprise, 

He hears the tale again, 
Till sleep' o'ercomes his drowsy eyes, 

And rests his wandering brain. 

A romping youth, without a care, 

A parents' hope and pride. 
Remembered in their ev'ry prayer, 

With naught of love denied, 
Who gladly now would give each joy 

That blooms with man's estate, 
To be again a merry boy. 

With health and hope elate. 



REST. 

Dear little pattering feet, 

Seeking like bird for its nest, 
Come to me, angel, my sweet ! 

Here to my welcoming breast; 
Would that in all coming time, 

When thou art weary or sad, 
Rest that's as near the sublime 

For thy dear head may be had. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG iS3 

COME AGAIN. 

(Song.) 

Come again when thou wilt, 
In the gloaming or morning, 
A welcome awaits thee 

Whenever it be; 
The love thou hast gained 
Is all heedless of warning, 
Thy heart be the guide 

That shall lead thee to me. 

Come again when thou wilt, 
If in coming thy feeling 
Can thrill at the meeting 

Of her thou hast won. 
And waste not a throb 
Of love's tender appealing. 
But haste to the heart 

That has thee for its sun. 

Come again and again. 
Never doubting the feeling 
Thou wak'st in my bosom. 

For thee, dear, alone; 
No joy of love's making. 
No vow of love's sealing. 
But binds me the stronger 

In sweet chains, my own. 



THE SILENT SONG. 

In tender heart and loving mind 

Are melodies unsung. 
More sweet to them than they may find 

In book or trilling tongue; 
As I in music ne'er can shine. 

Nor rhyme as poets do, 
The silent song, dear heart, is mine. 

Whose theme is love for you. 



154 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



BY-GONE DAYS. 
(Song.) 

I love to dream of days gone by, 

With all their joy and pain. 
When ev'ning shades are drawing nigh 

Upon the land and main; 
'Tis then, while happy moments flee, 

I linger o'er the past. 
And think how pleasant it would be 

If such sweet dreams could last. 

I see the mother of my youth, 

Who taught my lips to pray. 
And guided me in paths of truth, 

That I might never stray; 
Who taught my heart to look above 

If weary of its load. 
And ask the Father's tender love, 

To cheer me on life's road, 

I see dear ones again arise, 

'Mid scenes of "auld lang syne," 
The light of friendship in their eyes, 

Their hand's warm clasp in mine; 
The glow of youth is unconfined, 

Life's bloom is in the air. 
And songs of hope imbue the mind. 

While joy is everywhere. 

But, ah! such dreams are vain and brief. 

They come but to deceive. 
Yet to my heart a calm relief 

Their mem'ries ever leave; 
I live again the golden hours 

Of childhood's happy day, 
Though like the transient sunny showers, 

They too soon fade away. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 155 

BELIEVE NOT THE LIP. 
(Song.) 

Believe not the lip that would falsely convey 

The thought that affection like mine, 
Could, e'en for a moment's time, wander away 

To serve at a loftier shrine; 
No, no, such affection and love cannot swerve, 

'Tis graven too deep in the heart, 
The soul of its choice is the soul it will serve 

Forever, anear or apart. 

It is not the glowing affection of years 

That changes with time and grows cold. 
But warmer it throbs for the heart it endears 

When time and its changes are old; 
As ivy, encircling a stalwart old tree. 

Clings closer as ages go past. 
So true love forever and ever shall be 

Most constant and true to the last. 

Then trust not the lip that would even suggest 

The thought that affection so true 
Can ever grow cold to the heart it loves best, 

Or pine for another more new; 
But let us, like ivy and towering oak. 

Our faith and our love intertwine, 
And each for the other a blessing invoke, 

Till life and its passions decline. 



■^- 



SWALLOW, O SWALLOW. 

Swallow, O, swallow, had I your swift wings 

I know where I'd fly this fair night, 
No time would I waste cutting air in wide rings; 

They'd spread for a far-away flight 
To one that I know keeps me in his mind's sight 

From dawning till shades dim the West, 
And never a moment I'd waste to alight 

Till safe on his bosom I'd rest. 



156 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



I NEVER CAN FORGET THEE. 

(Song.) 

I never can forget thee, love, 

While memory will last. 
Where'er my fortune be, love, 

Where'er my lot be cast; 
My heart can never, never stray, 

It beats for thee alone, 
And ever will, by night and day, 

While reason holds her throne. 

The sun may cease to shine, love, 

The flowers to drink the dew, 
The birds of summertime, love, 

May cease to sing and coo; 
Ah, Yes! the earth may cease to move, 

The strangest things may be, 
But while it throbs, my heart will prove 

Its faithfulness to thee. 

When far away I roam, love, 

Beneath a foreign sky, 
Sweet thoughts of thee and home, love, 

Will then be ever nigh ; 
And Oh, what pleasure it will be 

To think, whate'er my lot, 
That while my heart beats true to thee 

That I am not forgot. 

Thy ever pleasant face, love, 

In fancy I will see, 
'Twill always hold its place, love. 

Deep in my memory; 
'Twill be to me a guiding light, 

A star that ne'er will set, 
Whose gentle smile, by day Or night, 

I never can foraret. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 157 

O SING THAT SONG AGAIN. 
(Song.) 

O sing that plaintive song again 

In tones I love to hear. 
And chide me not if its sweet strain 

Should start a heartfelt tear; 
It brings me back in memory 

To happy days gone by. 
When life was full of youthful glee, 

Devoid of care or sigh. 

It brings me back, that simple lay, 

A voice both sweet and mild, 
And lips that used to kiss away 

The frettings of her child; 
A pleasant, ever patient face, 

That beamed with mother love; 
A soul that left this dwelling place 

For the bright home above. 

Then sing that plaintive song once more, 

And let my heart rejoice 
To hear it as in days of yore, 

When sung by her dear voice; 
Each strain of its sweet melody 

A pleasure doth impart. 
That ever will be loved by me 

While feelings rule the heart. 



-^- 



EXPECTANCY. 

By the marge of a swift-purling brook 

She reclined, 'neath a shade spreading tree. 
So intent on her book not a look 

Would she turn toward the one she would see; 
For in maids' subtle way she was wise 

That he'd stroll by the brink at that hour, 
.\nd the glint fairly danced in her eyes 

At the lure of her Eve-given power. 



158 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



A MORNING SERENADE. 

Awake my love, the mavis trills 

His matin song to charm the morn; 
The blackbird's ope' their crimson bills, 

To welcome in the light, new born; 
The linnet gray sings on the bough 

That hangs above your window sill, 
And all the land's awaking now. 

While you, my love, are sleeping still. 

The merry lark pipes out his lay 

While soaring upward to the blue; 
The hawthorn's white and spray by spray 

Is glist'ning in the early dew; 
The purple lilac overhead. 

To charm you out incense supplies, 
And now the day-king's rays bespread 

Your chamber wall — my sweet, arise. 



-^- 



UPON THE VALLEY HILLS. 

They rambled idly o'er the hills 

That crowned the verdant valley, 
'Neath spreading branches, droning rills. 

Where sweethearts used to dally; 
She said that love was like a stream 

Whose flow was fickle ever. 
Now here, now off through rocky seam, 

Capricious, constant never. 

They sauntered down a mile or two 

To where the rills were missing; 
A peaceful river came in view. 

Which setting sun was kissing; 
Said he: this waterway had birth 

From many a spring and crest, dear; 
So, in your life, while on this earth, 

My heart's true love will rest, dear. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 159 



FAREWELL. 

(A Song.) 

'Tis vain to wish we'd never met, 

'Tis useless to complain, 
Fate spun the cord and wove the net 

Thy passion snapped in twain; 
I would the words had ne'er been said 

That bring regret so deep. 
That severed charms on which love fed. 

And now it may beweep. 

I laid my heart beneath thy feet, 

I gave it thee entire. 
Thy hopes expressed were mine complete, 

Thy wish was my desire; 
But thought recalls thy angered face 

And words, when last we met. 
That picture time cannot erase. 

Nor memory forget. 

So let us part, as part we must. 

And ere we meet again 
Thou'lt deem perchance the motive just 

That gives to each such pain; 
And should, in years, thy thoughts awake 

To retrospection's spell, 
May kindly ones, for old times' sake, 

Be entertained — farewell! 



LOVE'S SHAFT. 

Youth and maid crossed paths one day 
When the blooms were decking May; 
Scarce a word did either say, 
Eyes being much more eloquent; 
Love, while out a-hunting there. 
Spied his quarry, drew with care, 
Smilingly he winged the pair, 
Binding them, then off' he went. 



i6o BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

LULLABY. 

Sleep, baby, sleep, 
'Tis time to be still, 

Your eyelids are heavy 
And need a good rest; 
Shut closer your peepsies 
While sucking your fill. 
There's nothing to scare you 
While pressed to my breast; 
Swing high and swing low, 
An angel I know 
Has five little toesies, 
And all in a row. 

Sleep, baby, sleep, 
Poor mother is glad 
Her treasure will soon 
To its nap fall away; 
No work can be finished 
If baby is bad. 
And keeps me a-rocking 
And wasting the day; 
Swing low and swing high, 
A-by, hush a-by, 
A bad little tootsie 
Makes poor baby cry. 

Sleep, baby sleep. 

The i)ird on his perch 

Has smothered his song 

To entice you to doze; 

Your kitty has stopped 

For the mousey to search, 

And washes her face 

With her paws, on your clothes; 

Swing high and swing low. 

If blessing should grow, 

I'd pick me a-plenty 

For baby, I know. 

Now in its crib 
I'll tuck my sweet lamb, 
And cover it over 
From troublesome flies; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG i6i 

A wee tootsie wootsie 
For mozzer it am. 
And sweeter than all 
That lives under the skies ; 
Swing low and swing high, 
Hush, precious, don't cry. 
My heart-beat, my angel, 
A-by, hush a-by. 



SLUMBER SONG. 

Hush, little one, hush; 

'Tis now the time for rest; 
The baby birdies in the bush 
Are cuddled close to mother's breast, 

With not a cheep 

To break their sleep 
Till morning floods their cosy nest. 

Sleep, birdie mine, sleep; 

The lambs are in the pen. 
Where mother sheep will tend and keep 
Them warm and snug till dawn, and then 

They'll wake and bleat. 

And tug and eat, 
And frisk about the field again. 

Dream, pretty one, dream ; 

The sweet-lunged briar rose 
Is breathing out its honey stream 
To woo my darling to repose ; 

Blest angels keep 

Guard o'er thy sleep 
Till rosy beams thine eyes unclose. 



SENTIMENT AND AFFECTION 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 165 



UNDER THE SNOW. 

Darling, here in your favorite room, 

After the duties of day are done, 
Long I sit in the evening gloom 

Trailing the track of the time that's run, 
And the thoughts that arise in me 

Travel unerring as shadows do 
To the dark hour of life's misery, 

Lingering not till again with you. 

But I never can see your face. 

Never a sound of your voice I hear; 
Yet I feel that you're in the place 

Shaded from sight in its atmosphere ; 
Bringing me joy that dissolves in brine, 

Knowing that never while life niay last 
Nothing more tangible shall be mine 

Than the sweet memory of the past. 

All the things which the chambers hold 

Waken unuttered speech in my breast, 
Telling of pleasantries, often told 

By the sweet lips that would be caressed; 
Now they are silent, beloved of mine! 

Under a mantle of heaping snows, 
Where, in the springtime, the warm sunshine 

Fondles the buds the arbutus shows. 

Darling, Oh, darling! while I, instead, 

In the warm glow of the fire anear. 
Ponder in spirit above your bed, 

Under a sky that is dun and drear; 
Shiver at thought that not once shall I, 

Now or in future, as time rolls on, 
Feel on my bosom your dear head lie, 

Bound in my arms as in days agone. 

Day after day I have gone to you 

Laden with sorrow and welling tears. 
Silently praying, as best I knew, 

Hoping and longing they'd reach your ears ; 
Useless indeed, though a heart of woe 

Pines for communion, e'en when dank clay 
Hideth the light of its life below, 

Deaf to its anguish for ever and aye. 



i66 .BRAMBLES AND ' TWIGS OF SONG 

Oh, the drear loneliness ! Oh, the grief ! 

Lasting, acute as when freshly born; 
Little to ease it but this belief : — 

Meet you I will when of earth blight shorn ; 
And the warm comfort of that alone 

Strengthens my spirit to trend the way 
Leading up to you, my love, my own ! 

Into the light of unending day. 



^ 

FOND HEART, TRUE HEART. 

As fared I forth to toil from day to day, 

A fond heart, true heart sped me on my way, 

And through the hours a happy thought would say: 

"To-night life's comfort waits within thy door." 
Speed, speed the day, dear God, when loss brings gain 
Beyond this vale of tears, of blessing, bane, 
Where this poor soul may find its prayers not vain, 

To dwell in spirit pear her evermore. 

K- 



CELESTIAL MEMORY. 

'Tis not, O love, can thought of thee e'er fade. 

For that's more lasting, while there's power to breathe, 
Than urn of hardest bronze or polished jade. 

Which tender hands above thy lone bed wreathe. 
But 'tis may'st thou, from where the pure abide, 

Look down^ and see, and love us as of yore; 
O spirit sweet, we'd deem such bliss allied 

To ev'ry blessed gift we've had before ! 



H- 

WITHERED LEAVES. 

They speak of bright and pleasant hours, 

These withered leaves around us falling, 
Of balmy days and sunny showers 

With blithesome birds to fond mates calling; 
And though they to the mind convey 

A tale of vanished hours of gladness, 
Heaped on the earth they lie to-day, 

Fit types of joys that end in sadness. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 167 

For do they not a time recall 

When dearly loved ones moved beside us? 
Who to our lives were all in all, 

Whose tenderness is now denied us? 
Ah, yes! while these poor withered leaves 

With beauty crowned the limbs above us, 
The leal affection ours now grieves. 

Was here to welcome and to love us. 

O, bare, brown boughs, so short a time 

Has flown away since ye were cuddled 
By these damp leaves, begrimed with rime. 

Now limp and lifeless 'neath thee huddled; 
That strange Fd deem it not if ye 

Should waste away with ceaseless sighing 
For loss of those that suckled thee, 

Ere Autumn's chill had sealed their dying. 

And yet 'tis only for a while, 

A little while of freezing weather. 
Till ye will bask within the smile 

Of bright young leaves and blooms together; 
Not so with those who may have known 

And lost a love that crowned their pleasure. 
Heart leaflets may again be grown. 

But frail and weak, and small to measure. 

Poor withered leaves, poor lonely hearts! 

How like and yet unlike your story! 
Ye both have felt the blast that smarts, 

Ye both have reigned a time in glory; 
But one lies shrivelled on the sod, 

By every fickle wind breath driven, 
The other waits the call of God, 

To meet its counterpart in Heaven. 



A MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

O Thou who wert a tiny babe 

Upon Thy virgin mother's breast. 

Who in all things were like to this 
Sweet bud, now to my bosom pressed; 



i68 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Thou only knowest, only Thou, 
The depth of love a mother knows, 

The hopes, the joys that from it spring, 
Which poor, weak words may not disclose. 

Thou givest all, Thou takest all ; 

Therefore, in pure sub-conscious prayer. 
My thoughts arise in every phase 

Of mother love, for guidance, care, 
That this dear soul, this precious gift 

Thou gavest me, through time and place 
May be all mindful of Thy will. 

And grow in wisdom, strength and grace. 



WHEN WARM DAYS COME AGAIN. 

When the warm days come again 

Coaxing tardy buds to bloom, 

And the bare boughs to sustain 

Baby leaves, to brighten gloom, 

Then, dear mother, you shall see 

These pale cheeks grow plump and brown. 

When my strength comes back to me — 

Oh, for life's last mystery! 

Oh, to lay its anguish down! 



WOODLAWN. 

(An Elegy.) 



Here lie the dust and mouldering bones 
Of yonder bustling city's dead, 

Beneath the slabs and white head-stones, 
O'er many crowded acres spread. 

Here lie the leaders of the crowd 
With them they erst did teach and sway; 

Beside the humble rest the proud, 
All in a grass-grown common clay. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 169 

And here are costly cenotaphs. 

And tombs where art and wealth are shown, 
Whose tenants' hopes, in paragraphs, 

Are chiseled in the figured stone. 

And here is many a narrow mound, 

As close as in yon city square 
Are tenements, and o'er the ground 

Are hearts bereaved, whose tender care 

Died not when loved ones passed from view, 

But fare afar to tend and spray 
Sweet emblems of their love and rue, 

When flowers but emphasize decay. 

And here, this bleak Autumnal day. 
The cold wind rustles, bites and stabs 

The year-tired leaves, that shrink away 
And whirl around the mounds and slabs, 

As if to seek some safe retreat, 

Some lone, inviting, sheltered spot. 
Where sunshine lingers, song-birds meet. 

And where the sacred dead are not. 

And here, as by a grave I stand. 

With bare, bowed head, in silent prayer, 

I seem to feel a vanished hand 
And see a dear one in the air. 

'Tis naught, I know, but weakened thought. 
To which the sore, tired brain succumbs 

When nerves and mind are overwrought, 
And sorrow's philter to us comes. 

But we who see, with aching hearts. 
The mirage naught but vacant space, 

Have hope that when our day departs 
We'll meet again and face to face. 

Perhaps 'twere wiser to be brave 

And let not sorrow yield to tears. 
E'en though the depth of this cold grave 

Be filled with tender love of years. 



170 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

And yet 'tis hard to stifle grief 

That savors strong of crushing pain, 

Though faith be built on firm belief 
That we shall rise from earth again. 

"He giveth his beloved sleep," 

Is carved above the entrance gates; 
So sleep, dear saint, and though we weep, 
We'll be resigned, as one who waits 

The dawning of a coming morn 

Upon a spirit-charted shore. 
Where love and peace are newly born, 

And partings come for nevermore. 

Now tolls the solemn sounding bell, 

That ushers in another one 
In this receptive earth to dwell 

While ceaseless time rolls on and on. 

Here to the grave a cortege wends; 

Around stand mourning kin and friends; 
The ropes are placed, the corpse descends- 

And thus life's fitful journey ends. 

So grant, dear God, that when grim death 

O'ertakes us, known or unaware. 
Thy grace shall seal our parting breath, 
Thy love be all our hope and care. 



THE FRIENDS WHO ARE GONE. 

It seemeth but a little way 

To wander back to long ago. 

And greet, in spirit, those we know 

As once we knew in friendship's glow. 

When life was as a Summer day. 

Because they've passed beyond our ken 
To some fair place in other air, 
They would not be forgotten there; 
They wait the day when we shall share 
Their love and loyalty again. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 171 

It may be soon or late — to-night, 
Next year, we'll sail the river o'er; 
But whether it be less or more, 
We know that on that hidden shore 
All love is purified delight. 

We cannot know just where it lies, 
Nor even picture the sweet place; 
It matters not, if we may trace 
The old love look in each dear face. 
The old devotion in their eyes. 

'Tis only a short span beyond 
This changing wayside that we tread; 
There is not anything to dread 
In passing onward, loved and led 
To those of whom we are so fond. 



-5f- 



OUR ANGEL. 

Last night, while the bells were ringing 

High up in the chapel tower. 
And people were churchward going 

To pray in the vesper hour, 
I sat at the organ playing 

A tender and sweet simplette, 
As fraught with the soul of music 

As ever was dreamt of yet. 

And out of the chords that filled me 

With pleasure akin to pain, 
I conjured a choir of angels 

Repeating each tender strain. 
And one with a voice that thrilled me 

Sung sweetest unto my ears. 
Awaking a slumbering sorrow. 

That flooded my eyes with tears. 

For often in days just over, 

A little child stood by me 
And watched while my fingers wakened. 

Some treasure of harmony, 
'Till filled with the spirit of music, 

His sweet little voice would blend, 
'Till oft in my soul a yearning 

Would rise that it ne'er would end. 



172 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

But He from whom all good cometh, 

Who loveth the pure of heart, 
And taught us to be as children. 

He willeth that we should part; 
And though in the bosom of Heaven 
We know that our child hath rest, 
The wail of our hearts, though voiceless, 
Can never be quite suppressed. 

So, while from the ivory keyboard 

Chords answered my finger tips, 
The sound of familiar anthems 

Came down from his angel lips. 
And over me like a blessing, 

A vivid response to prayer, 
A choir of God's chosen hovered 

And showed me our little one there. 

Our baby, our treasure, our darling! 

Oh, God ! how my mourning heart cried 
To clasp once again to my bosom 

The angel that came to my side; 
Came down to me straight from Christ's presence, 

To me, a poor sin-tainted clod. 
To bless and bring me the rapture 

And peace that comes only from God. 

And soft on my lips fell his kisses. 

And close unto mine his cheek pressed, 
And warmly his dear arms embraced me. 

As ofteri when weary for rest; 
And deep into mine fondly looking 

Were purest and holiest eyes. 
Reflecting the peace and the glory 

Abiding within Paradise. 

More gentle than tenderest mother 

When lulling her darling to rest. 
Approached a white-garmented angel 

And folded ours close to her breast; 
Then up to the pearly gates rising, 

While anthems of joy filled the night. 
Our beautiful angel was wafted 

To infinite, endless delight. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 173 

Oh, hearts for dear little ones mourning,_^ 

Christ's pity and love be your cheer 
When missing the patter of footsteps 

That never will fall on your ear. 
When round you the flock is all gathered, 

And vacant stands one little chair, 
The pang and the sob that ariseth. 

May He grant you power to bear! 



A MOTHER'S DREAM. 

True, dear, I know it is unwise 

To give away to sorrow so. 
To see the day in night's disguise. 

And ev'ry joy dissolved in woe; 
But what availeth all that's said 

By loving lips, however dear? 
Can words bring to my arms my dead? 

Can sympathy my pierced heart cheer? 

Forgive! the speech was meaningless; 

The vapored cloud sends down the rain; 
'Twas so with your sweet gentleness, 

Which loosed the flood of sorrow's strain. 
I love you, love you, love you, dear! 

I know the grief you try to hide; 
For, last night, when the morn was near, 

I heard you sobbing by my side. 

But, Oh, the comfort dream I had! 

From which I waked and heard you cry; 
I saw our child, in white robe clad. 

With other angels, playing nigh; 
He ran to me, the precious dear! 

Embraced me in his own sweet way, 
And said: "O mother, do stay here, 

I do not want to go away." 



174 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



A SILENT CITY. 

By sculptured marble monuments 
With gilt inscriptions, row by row, 
Engraved thereon, I sauntered slow 
And pensively when Summer's glow 
Filled all the air with flowery scents. 

Spectators gazed and criticised 

The stately piles from point to base, 

But not a solitary trace 

Of grief showed on a single face — 

None lay there whom in life they prized. 

I passed them by, I could not bear 
To hear their cheerful voices sound; 
The very silence all around 
Proclaimed it consecrated ground; 
And they? 'Twas pleasure guided there. 

I walked the many graves among 

To one fresh mound, apart, alone; 

Half withered flowers on it were strown, 

And at the head a simple stone, 

On which a wreath of cypress hung. 

And prone upon the spade-smooth clay, 

The flower-strewn clay, by kind hands dressed, 

The heavy clay, that downward pressed 

Upon the sleeper's tender breast, 

A sorrow stricken mother lay. 

"Oh, darling!" sobbed she, "of my womb, 
Oh light of my declining years, 
When danger came I quelled your fears. 
Your joys were mine and mine your tears; 
My lamp is quenched, my life's in gloom." 

The place I passed with noiseless tread, 
And as the winding walks I tro.d 
My soul-voice uttered thanks to God, 
That mine slept not beneath the sod, 
But o'er my life love's blessings shed. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 175 

BEREAVED. 

The old live on while the young things die; 

The Summer flees and the Winter stays; 
The old tree stands when it prone should lie, 

And all the world's a maze.- 

I'm left to croak while the young drop off; 

To stay and totter on oil-less bones ; 
To sneeze and sputter with phlegmy cough. 

And move with stifled groans. 

Have I sinned more than the others did? 

That I must linger the last of all! 
They sleep in peace, of all trouble rid, 

While I must bide my call. 

Her mother's mother, she fell away 

While yet her daughter was scarcely three; 

The daughter followed one dismal day, 
And left her child to me. 

And there she lies in her winding sheet. 
The pale wee thing with the angel face; 

The wee sweet thing that I'll never meet 
In all this lonely place. 

Where shall I look for my life's sunlight? 

The loved, sweet prattle, the childish song? 
Oh, vanish day, and come soon black night, 

And bring kind death along ! 



^- 



MERCY DEAN. 

"Man's love is of his life a thing apart, 'tis a woman's 
whole existence." 

"Do not grieve for me, dear mother," 

Weak and low the voice that spake. 
While the patient, loving parent wept 

As if her heart would break; 
Qasp me closer to you, mother. 

Press my head upon your breast. 
For I'm weary, mother, weary, 

And I long to be at rest. 



176 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Fold me closer, mother, closer 

In your true and loved embrace, 
Let me feel your fond heart beating 

And your breath upon my face; 
Let me lie, while life is ebbing. 

On your bosom, truest, best^ 
For I'm weary, mother, weary, 

And I long to be at rest. 

Are the days not growing longer? 

That they barely seem to creep 
When I'm wishing for the night to bring 

Forgetfulness in sleep; 
Is the night the time for sleeping? 

That I long for sleep in vain, 
And grow weary watching, mother. 

For the morn to come again. 

All last night I heard the ticking 

. Of the clock upon the stair, 

As you watched and dozed beside me 

In the hollow elbow chair; 
And I heard the owlets croaking 

When the bat went flitting by. 
And the cock's clear clarion sounding 

Ere the stars had left the sky. 

And I thought, while through the window 

One pale star its soft light shed, 
If amongst the friendly mourners 

He will grieve when I am dead; 
If a single thought of sorrow 

Will be nourished in his breast, 
When beneath the turf I'm lying. 

When my troubled heart's at rest. 

Chide, O, chide me not, dear mother; 

Let me break the silence vow; 
Let my thoughts find ease in language — 

Speaking cannot harm me now; 
Raise my head from off the pillow;. 

Hear the birds their songs begin; 
Loop the curtain, ope the window; 

Let the blessed sunshine in. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 17; 

See what strength the air has brought me ! 

Move me nearer to the light ; 
Place your arm's support around me 

While I view the gladsome sight ; 
Soon, quite soon perhaps, dear mother, 

I'll be up and out again, 
Maybe ere the corn has ripened, 

Or a sickle touched the grain. 

Long ago my heart conned over 

Such a song, so soft and sweet. 
That it filled my spirit, mother. 

With a happiness complete ; 
Day by day its sounds grew sweeter, 

Day by da}'- in wrapt content, 
Listened I to strains entrancing, 

Hardly knowing what they meant. 

Morning dawned and with it pleasure, 

Noontide came in spirits gay, 
Gloaming nestled in night's bosom. 

Still my heart-bird trilled its lay; 
Trilled its lay till ev'ry cadence, 

Ev'ry accent, note and rest. 
Plainly said 'twas love, dear mother. 

Singing blithely in my breast. 

Long my birdling sung in secret. 

Sung unheard by all but me, 
Till the brooklet bui:st its fetters 

And the snow had left the lea ; 
Then a music more celestial 

Than my ear hath ever heard, 
Woo'd a simple strain responsive 

From my trembling, joyous bird. 

Blest and overjoyed I listened 

To the music made for me. 
With my ev'ry fibre throbbing 

In supernal ecstacy; 
Not within the round horizon. 

Not beneath the lucent sky. 
Could be found a simple maiden 

Half so happy then as I. 



178 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



Over where the cherry's blossom 

Walked we happy side by side. 
Past the corn-field and the wheaten 

In the tranquil eventide; 
Proud was I to hear him telling 

Of the fame he'd win in life, 
Prouder still whene'er he'd picture 

Us together, man and wife. 

Then the corn was barely peeping 

From the full and gladsome earth; 
Then my heart was overflowing 

With pure happiness and mirth; 
Then the world a very Eden seemed 

Of pleasure, hope and love; 
Then I envied not the angels 

In the realm of bliss above. 

And he gained my promise, mother. 

That I'd be his loving bride, 
When the apple leaves were withered 

And the coppice flowers died; 
And he slipped this shining circlet 

On my finger, while he said: 
'Darling, may my life be blighted 

Ere my love for thee be fled." 

Meant he all the vows he uttered? 

Doubting heart, then, then he did ! 
But that ere his prayer be fruitful. 

Pitying Lord and Judge forbid! 
Cease, poor heart, cease thy complaining, 

Wonder not his faith could rove; 
What return couldst thou have made him. 

Save a guileless maiden's love? 

Leaned she back upon the pillow, 

Over weary more to speak. 
While a softened ray of sunlight 

Kissed her pale and wasted cheek; 
Gazed she through the open window 

While the shadows upward crept. 
Soothing nature touched her eye-lids, 

And the gentle sufferer slept. 



BRA MBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG i79 

Frosty days of drear December, 

Followed by their chilling eves. 
Strewed the paths and filled the hollows 

With decaying, sodden leaves; 
Larch and maple, elm and hemlock, 

In the grove were gaunt and bare, 
Whirling in the breath of winter. 

Snowy flakes were everywhere. 

Bloomed no more wild-rose nor aster 

By the naked coppice walks. 
Blasted, shorn of all their beauty. 

Naught remained but sapless stalks; 
Iris, yarrow, dahlia, gentian. 

From the plot she loved had fled; 
Like her hopes they'd bloomed their season. 

Like her hopes they, too, were dead. 

Linted door and sash and crevice 

Bound the needful warmth within. 
Barring out the blasts of northland 

From the maiden, wan and thin; 
Wan and thin and uncomplaining 

Lay she in the dying day, 
Calmly for the beacon waiting, 

Summoning her soul away. 

Once, when asked if she were happy. 

Faintly said she in reply: 
That the world had lost its beauty. 

And she felt content to die; 
That she walked the paths of sunshine 

Till she saw the dark shades blend. 
And 'twere better, feeling ready, 

That her journey then should end. 

In the calm, unbroken silence 

Of the dark and solemn hours. 
Snapped the vital link that bound her 

To this changeful world of ours; 
Quenched life's passions, weary longings, 

Purified by pain and prayer, 
Trusting in Christ's love and mercy, 

Passed she from all earthly care. 



i8o BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 
THE AWAKENING. 

Dear heart! I pen the fond old name to-night 

As one who bids a long, a last farewell 

To all that made his world so sweet and bright; 

As though, indeed, it were a dying knell 

To love, and joy, and aspiration; yet, 

Fear not that sense with outstretched wings shall flee, 

Or time grow stale, or memory beget 

A single plaint or shadow of regret 

For meeting, knowing, loving thee. 

"Forgive thee?" There is nothing to forgive! 
I prized thee over all my world possessed, 
And deemed the treasure mine while I should live, 
To think of, toil for, care for, and be blessed; 
A season's dream! A bright, illusive dream 
Indeed; The waking startled me! 
But what of thee? May new love's beam 
Ne'er flicker, dwindle, fade to mere "esteem" 
For thee or thy "affinity." 



^ 



FALLEN LEAVES. 

Like incense rises the pervading smell 

Of dead, crisp leaves, beneath the shorn trees spread, 

Which in the season past profusely shed 

Relief from beams that from the zenith fell; 

A period brief they reigned 'neath tranquil blue, 

As did the sylvan vows we made, we two. 



THE WEDDING RING. 

'Tis but a yellow band of gold, 

A little circlet, worn and old. 

All shiny on the inner side, 

While on the outer, dents abide 

In which appears a tiny piece 

Set in, to give it an increase. 

As though the finger it had l)Ound 

Had grown from small to larger round. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG i8i 

I handle it as if it were 

A thing spun out of gossamer, 

Or tender as the heart-full load 

Of living love that from her flowed; 

It is a precious amulet, 

On which a priceless value's set; 

Which — known but to my God and me — 

I all but worship, secretly. 

The world around is wet with grief, 
And vain its solace for relief ; 
'Tis only when lag time goes by 
That sorrow fails to dim the eye ; 
But ne'er can time nor space subdue 
Affection's memory, if true. 
Nor quell the sad joy that it brings 
As sure as buds to wak'ning springs. 

Oh, precious ring, plain loop of gold, 
Our love was like the form you hold ; 
You're joined, are pure, and have no end; 
As was our lives, your portions blend; 
You shared the housewife cares she found ; 
'^oft, baby fingers turned 3^ou round ; 
But when you parted., 'twas for aye; 
While I — we'll meet again, I pray. 



K- 

MARJORY'S DOLL. 

O poor little lonely doll. 

Come down from your darksome shelf 
So long you've been lost to view 

Behind the discarded delf, 
That out of my mind you passed 

As passes a dream from sight, 
Till something of day reveals 

The vagaries of the night. 

Neglected and lorn you've been 

Since last she brushed out your curls, 
Kissed both of your chubby cheeks 

And named you her best of girls ; 
Since last, in her soft brown arms, 

She crooned you her lullaby, 
"O dolly, you'se sweet, so sweet, 

I loves you up to the sky." 



i82 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

And somehow, you blue-eyed waif, 

I feel that you've won me, too ; 
For all of the joy you brought 

The darling, was pure and true; 
Perhaps in the blessed realm 

She thinks of her loved ones here ; 
So, dolly, come to my heart 

IFor sake of our vanished dear. 
5f 

APPRECIATION. 

As a bright star amid the blue 
That veils thy home from sight. 
Doth send through space, each eve anew. 
Its beams of tranquil light, 
So shines the love and influence 
Thou sheddest here ere passing hence. 
^ 

DOVE EYES. 

'Twas in the early spring time 
Ere the snow had left the ground, 

And long before the russet drops 
On hazel boughs were found ; 

The scarfs of frost were on the trees 
» That on the upland grew, 

And brown and bare the apple boughs 
In all the garden through. 

'Twas then that baby dove eyes came 

And filled the house with joy, 
And built a nest within our hearts 

That time cannot destroy; 
The pale-faced mother in her bliss^ 

Forgot her pain and smiled. 
And fondly to her bosom pressed 

Her precious first-born child. 

And silent tears of happiness 

Impearled her wasted cheek — 
More eloquent of love were they 

Than words her lips might speak; 
And when the little mite was dressed 

In robes full twice its length, 
'Twas placed within the father's arms, 

So awkward in their strength ! 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 183 

The gentle man, with brawny frame 

And muscles like a steer. 
Appeared a very Hercules 

Fondling the tiny dear; 
The proud young wife, from where she lay, 

Saw her sweet babe caressed, 
And longed to have her treasure back 

To nestle in her breast. 

The snow had melted from the land, 

The buds burst from the trees, 
The sounds of early singing birds 

Were mingled with the breeze; 
And soon the orchard trees were white 

With scented blossom sprays 
That looked like flakes of virgin snow, 

Ere sunlight disarrays. 

The summer months came on apace, 

When all the blooms were fled 
And left behind, on bending boughs. 

The luscious fruit instead ; 
And flowers bloomed along the walks,. 

And by the garden wall, 
But our sweet bud was fairer far 

And sweeter than them all. 

Again the northern blasts came down 

And smote the woodland through, 
Nor spared our spring-born bloom of blooms, 

Which wan and weaker grew ; 
But smiling spring had come again 

Ere all our hopes were lost, 
While fever sapped her precious life 

As sunshine sips the frost. 

We watched the life-light flickering. 

Beheld her parting breath. 
And saw our heart-bud gently pass 

Within the realm of death. 
And now, as o'er the woodland wide 

The snowdrops ope their eyes, 
So wake we to the Spirit's peace, 

And dream of Paradise. 



i84 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



WHERE VIOLETS GROW 

Come with me, come to a dingle I know. 

By water kissed slopes, and it's there I will show 

A bed where the daintiest flowerets grow, 

The double, sweet violets; 
In starlight and sunlight they shadily lie. 
Sprinklings from nature's loom, lovely and shy, 
Scenting the winds that go loitering by 

Their realm, betwixt twin rivulets. 

Here's the rock maple where orioles nest; 

And this the dead pine stump, in red lichen dressed; 

Out yonder's the azure-fringed gentians crest, 

Where red berry trailers plash wild ; 
Since we last walked here four summers have flown, 
Three we were then, dear, we're now all alone; 
Oh, for a sound of the sweet treble tone. 

The voice of our dear little child! 

See, in this nook how they bloom — look within; 
To flowers of His parable they are akin, 
For, like the field lily, they toil not nor spin, 

Yet less is the glory of kings; 
Lift up the clumps, ev'ry precious root save. 
Snugly we'll plant them where willow boughs wave. 
Tenderly bed them on baby boy's grave. 

With touch that a mother's love brings. 



-5f 



PARTED. 

It's always the same, whether dreaming or waking. 

In thought thou art with me as when thou wert here, 
In moments of sadness, or pleasure partaking, 

Each brings the vain wishing that sense cannot veer; 
It may be that in the bright land over yonder 

The good Lord, thou seest, doth grant my soul's 
prayer. 
It may be because on our heaven past I ponder. 

It may be the sorrow all mortals must bear. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 185 

BABY'S CLOTHES. 

In a clothes press we use 
Is a small pair of shoes. 
Which are faded and old. 
With a value so high 
There is no one who'd buy. 
If they were to be sold. 

By their side in the press 
Is a little white dress 
With insertions of lace. 
And a tiny red sacque 
With a plain tuckered back 
And a fancy worked face. 

In our room the press stands — 
There are no other hands 
That may have the brass key 
But the sad little mother — 
Who'll not have another 
To use it but me. 

It is often she goes 

To caress the small clothes, 

Where she weeps without sound; 

When a sad hour arrives. 

As in all mothers' lives. 

She is there to be found. 

And I seek for here there, 
Where I lay my heart bare 
As I do to my God; 
For 'tis nothing but love 
Can long keep her above 
The embrace of the sod. 

And I speak to her low 
Of the few things I know 
Of the life beyond ours. 
And the dear little child, 
From all dross undefiled. 
In the Heavenly bowers. 



i86 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



Of our Father's great love. 
In whose presence above 
He contentedly lives, 
Where the angels of light 
Bring him joy day and night, 
More than mother e'er gives. 

And her tears find surcease 

In the balm of sweet peace 

When our thoughts rise in prayer, 

While her pillow's my breast, 

Where her poor head finds rest — 

If there's rest anywhere. 

Oh! the dear, toddling feet 

Of the shoes our eyes meet. 

And the clothes, dingy white; 

Oh! the sweet little one 

From our lonesome hearth gone, 

From our lives, from our sight! 



— X- 



THE PEARL. 

The shell was rough and muddy, 

From undercurrent's whirl. 
Yet in its living cuddy 

Was bred a precious pearl, 
And so may we, weak creatures, 

Though temptings o'er us roll 
Of mind mud, passion's beachers, 

Breed pure pearls of the soul. 



A MOTHER'S GRIEF. 

Oh dear ones who have passed away, 

Who left us when your stmts were done, 
Shall we not meet again some day 

Somewhere beyond the stars and sun? 
And shall you know us when we meet 

In that fair terra, soon or late? 
Or is earth love a blank complete 

To all who pass within the gate? 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 187 

Oh! beauty birdling, lone's the nest 

I weaved with fibres of my heart; 
What, can requite you for my breast? 

Can angels such content impart? 
Of all the myriads in that land 

Is there e'en one loves you like me? 
Who'd deem it essenced bliss to stand 

And 'tend you through eternity. 

Sweet, soft-eyed dove, I love you so 

I fain would go where you have gone; 
Long, lone the way you had to go. 

While I must linger on and on; 
Must linger on, perhaps, till years 

Have shrunk my breasts, brought tott'ring feet, 
And bleared my eyes with useless tears — 

How shall you know me if we meet? 

'Tis only in this trying sphere 

That Time is victor; where you are, 
Sweet innocent, there is no year. 

No count of days to age or mar; 
And this I hope ; when called away, 

With chastened spirit undefiled, 
To kneel at Christ's pierced feet, and pray 

As now, to see and know my child. 

To see your eyes of Heaven's own blue, 

So charmingly gaze up at me, 
As when with gurgling goo-a-goo. 

You nursed my breasts so greedily; 
To feel your lily-cushioned hand 

Reach to my face and loosened hair — 
Oh, pearl of pearls in angel-land, 

My yearning soul is with you there. 



-H- 



LOVE AND DEATH. 

When I die pray let me lie 
Where the wind, in passing by. 

Fans the turf above my head; 
Where alight the sunbeams bright. 
And the star-lamps of the night 

Shimmer on my quiet bed. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Well I know that grass shall grow 
O'er the pulseless one below, 

For 'tis nature's drapery; 
But the thought now comes unsought. 
Of all brooding longings wrought, 

For a spray of love for me. 

All for me, dear, all for me ! 
If such miracle might be. 

My poor heart would wake and crave 
Power to say, up through the clay : 
"As it loved you in life's day. 

So it loves you in the grave." 

Heart of mine, ah! don't repine; 
Love like ours is God's design. 

In due course returned to Him. 
One last kiss — O passing bliss, 
Darling, darling. Heaven is this! 

There, dear, there; my senses swim. 



-5f- 



A DYING MOTHER. 

"Bring my baby to the bed," 
In a feeble voice 'twas said 
By a mother, swiftly drifting 

Out upon the endless tide 
In the morning's early gloom, 
While within the lamp-lit room. 
Tender, loving hands were lifting 

Her, for ease, from back to side. 

Through the night, that just had passed, 
Ev'ry hour was thought her last. 
And the nurses bent above her 

Oft, to catch her parting breath; 
In the dawning she awoke. 
And the only wish she spoke 
Was to see her sleeping baby, 

As she felt the touch of death. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 189 



'Twas a scene to make hearts ache, 
When the infant, half awake, 
Ope'd it's tiny hand and fingered 

O'er the mother's covered breast; 
Who, though on the verge of Heaven, 
Looked as if she would have given 
All its bliss, could she have lingered 

With her babe close to her pressed. 

Tranquilly, as deep streams glide. 

Passed she over the dark tide, 

When the first faint gleams of morning 

Through the solemn chamber shone; 
And all sorrow found relief 
In the comforting belief 
That she reaps of seeds she'd scattered 

For the love of good alone. 



DEAR HANDS. 

Dear hands so soft and white. 

With palms pink coral tint. 
Dear nails with half moons bright 

And backs like snowy lint. 
Thy veins are streams of rich blood. 

That make thy spirits glow. 
Young hands they are from which good 

In tenderness should flow. 

Oh, hands so cold and pale, 

So seared with lines of toil! 
Oh, each poor finger-nail 

So worn with household moil! 
'Twas she who brought me thee, dear, 

And went away for aye. 
And thou hast grown to be, dear, 

Like her in each sweet way. 

Ah! they were days of bliss, 

When love and hope were young, 
When Heaven was mixed with this, 
Or earth from Heaven was sprung; 



190 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



When she, a loving daughter 

Of innate courtesy, 
Left all when love besought her 

To link her life with me. 

The One whom we adore. 

With whom she is at rest. 
But knows the love I bore 

His precious gift and best; 
Knows how, in toiling, striving, 

For her sweet sake I planned, 
To find, with all contriving, 

Our hopes were built on sand. 

Dear child, thy weeping's blest — 

Come to my fond embrace, 
And on my bosom rest 

Till sorrow leaves no trace; 
Perhaps we're wise in deeming 

Such tears as soothing showers. 
Which, from affection, teeming. 

Assuage all grief like ours. 



-^- 



MY NEIGHBOR'S ROSES. 

Over my neighbor's garden wall 

The rambling roses climb. 
And droop on my side, fade and fall 

Throughout their blooming time; 
No care give I to branch or soil 

For pleasure which they give, 
The trimming, training and the toil 

Are his, that they may live. 

It costs him naught to share their sweets 

That so profusely bloom, 
Yet year by year my speech repeats 

True thanks for their perfume; 
And so it is with good we do 

For others or our own. 
Like the great bush my neighbor grew, 

It gives back more than sown. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 191 

HUSH A-BYE, BABY. 

"Hush a-bj-e, baby, on the tree top, 
When the wind blows the cradle will rock, 
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall, 
Down comes baby, cradle and all." 

Soothing our peevishness, fretting and pain. 
Over and over she sings the sweet strain, 
Patiently quelling our troubles and cries, 
Lilting the sweetest of sweet lullabies. 

Tenderly clasped in her soft winding arms. 
Watchfully lulling our many alarms. 
Wooing and coaxing us onward to rest. 
Giving us life from her own loving breast. 

Out on the tree top the dreaming child swings, 
Cradled and cosy with all its playthings, 
Feeling the bough bending low in the air, 
Fearless of falling, for mother is there! 

Many a time since those days sped along, 
Mem'ry has wakened that lullaby song, 
Pictured the dear face bent over my own, 
Building high hopes for her baby alone. 

Weary and worn now with struggle and strife, 
Journeying on through the tangles of life, 
Tangles that naught but her love can undo. 
Love all unselfish and lasting and true. 

Masks we must wear, to seem happy and gay; 
Songs we must sing and bright parts we must play; 
Hopes may be dim, though forced smiles show them 
bright; 

for your low lullaby, dear, to-night! 

Mother, dear mother. Oh, would that once more 

1 could but see your dear face as of yore. 
Feel your sweet lips pressing warmly to mine. 
Clasped to your heart, where I loved to recline. 

Then would I shield you from life's vague alarms, 
Lovingly chain you in strong, tender arrns. 
Bear with your foibles, be gentle and mild. 
Just as you were, dear, when I was a child. 



192 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



MAMMA'S GIRLS. 

When after dinner we go up-stairs 

And gather around the parlor fire, 
Then grandma sits in the comfy chair. 

With babe in her lap, and we sit by 'er; 
And then she tells us a story true, 

And some from her own head she composes, 
Then she sings weak, 'cause we want her to, 

And when she's tired she lies back and dozes. 

Then mamma takes sweety from her lap, 

Puts up her finger, to make no noise 
While she is taking her ten-wink nap, 

Then brings our dollies and pretty toys; 
When she awakes we may play out loud 

And roll on the rugs, and muss our curls; 
Then mamma comes back, and says she's proud 

Of loving and playing with her sweet girls. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 195 



HOW? WHEN? WHERE? 

I know not when the final call will sound 

The dreaded summons from this beauteous earth; 
If it will find me in expectant mood. 

Or seeking pleasure in some place of mirth; 
It may be where the brightest scenes abound 

To gladden eyes that love all things most fair; 
It may be where the cry of pain is heard; 

But one thing well I know — 'twill be somezvhcre. 

I know not how my life lamp will go out; 

If it will dimmer grow from day to day 
Till all it's light be spent, and like a spark, 

Grow weak and weaker till it pass away; 
Or like a watch of finest workmanship 

That ticks the seconds with exactness now, 
Which, e'en a moment hence, may snap it's spring; 

Well, this I surely know — 'twill be somehozv. 

I know not when will end my lease of life; 

While yet young blood flows strong within my veins. 
Or not until old Time has filched it's strength 

And left instead a batch of aches and pains; 
But whether in the heyday of my years 

Or when my crown is white wnth age's rime, 
'Tis not more certain that I'm breathing now. 

Than that, O Death, thou'lt call me in sonic time. 

Thus must I pass away, but where or how, 

Or when's a mystery. Yet would I fain 
Depart and leave a memory of good 

Completed work, devoid of sting or pain 
To any fellow creature, and then with faith 

And trust in God's behests, I'd rest my sight 
On thy dear face, sweet love, true, patient heart, 

And wait the dawning of eternal light. 



196 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



THIRTY-FIVE. 

"The years of man's life are threescore and ten." 

From off of this weed besprinkled height 
The land for miles around is seen, 
Decked in habiliments of green 
Beneath a sky of blue and white; 
A drowsy calm pervades the air, 
Disturbed alone by drone of bee — 
Ah! Summer's smile is everywhere, 
While Autumn casts its shade o'er me! 

Aye, casts the shade of looming years 
On me, as on all sons of men, 
When half of the threescore and ten 
Of life's probation disappears; 
When youth reluctantly espies 
Embryo age on mid-life's crown. 
Whose solemn phiz and somber guise 
Make hope dislike the journey down. 

Midway between the two I stand — 
The flush of day, the gloom of night; 
One side is flower bestrewn and bright 
And pleasure reigns throughout the land; 
The other, varying in hue, 
Is warm and passing fair anear. 
But toward the end the valley view 
Seems bare and cold and very drear. 

Here at life's turning point, O heart, 
Lay down the load thou'st borne so long; 
All cankerous pride, desire of wrong, 
Ill-will and hate, cast out each part; 
The void with good intentions fill. 
Choose righteousness for staff and rod, 
And downward tread the sunset hill, 
At peace with man, with trust in God. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 197 

TO JOSEPHINE. 

'Tis just and meet that I should treat 

My rhyming tongue to make for thee 

A simple song, of days gone long, 

In words the moments bring to me; 

So sit by me while chord and key 

Prelude the theme I'll improvise, 

While mem'ry strays back to the days, 

Whence floods of pleasant thoughts arise. 

As blissful dreamings leave behind 
A pleasant impress on the mind, 
E'en after many hours have gone; 
So, in the retrospect of years, 
A fair, young face to me appears, 
A sweet, pure face to look upon. 

The bud that comes before the flower, 
Though beautiful, wields not the power 
To woo the bee or scent the air; 
But when the lapse of time expands 
Its petals, it perfumes the land, 
And wins admirers everywhere. 

So grew a bud, a very prize 

It was to loving, watchful eyes, 

That saw it growing, hour by hour, 

In colors tinted to endure — 

That watched it blooming and mature 

Into a charming, finished flow'r. 

Propitious was the hour and day 
That turned my footsteps by the way 
That led unto its modest bower; 
But brighter far the morn arose. 
When from its parent-bed I chose 
To cull and wear the cherished flower. 

And close and closer round my heart 
Its tendrils wound, till ev'ry part 
Enwrapped was in its fadeless bloom. 
Through which nor ills of frowning fate, 
Nor withering care may permeate. 
To blight its joyance with their gloom. 



198 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



'Tis thus with allegory plain, 
I close my unpretending strain 
To thee, by whom 'tis understood; 
And if it sound not sweet as some 
I've piped, when older days will come, 
Thou'lt hear another thrice as good. 



K- ■ 

THE SPIRIT OF FAITH. 

Whereto, immortal spirit, goest thou? 

The way is lonely and thou canst not see 
The myriads pass along, thou know'st not how, 

Toward the dim dawning of Eternity; 
Thou dost not grope nor lag, but passest on 

As though an unseen angel leads thy wraith, 
To prove the promise made in aeons gone: — 

That joy unending is the fruit of Faith. 



-H- 

IN THE SUNSHINE. 

Where heaven's pure breath perfumes the beds 

In which a many, care free, lie, 
Where bees are buzzing, clover spreads 

And song birds rest ere winging by; 
There lay me when my tally's done, 

In Nature's warm embracing clay. 
Where shines the morn and evening sun, 

Till Gabriel trumps God's reveille. 



-^- 



BABY ADELE. 

Sweet babe, thy guardian angel bids 

The balm of sleep to touch thine eyes, 
And lightly on thy drooping lids 

The soothing shade of slumber lies; 
A smile flits o'er thy face and brow, 

Wrought by some thought of blissful rest- 
'Tis like thou dream'st thy soft lips now 

Are closing on thy mother's breast. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 199 

We gaze upon thy tiny face, 

Bathed in the glow of purity, 
And in thy features clearly trace 

Thy mother's in epitome; 
Above thy form we fondly bend, 

While our hearts' tendrils wind round thee, 
And from our souls and lips ascend 

Thanks for the joy we find in thee. 

A bouquet of sweet sounding names 

We've culled from those we like the best. 
And each distinctive beauty claims 

Its own for thee, my tenderest! 
From out of all the cluster, we 

The fairest ones decide to glean. 
And holy rite, in blessing thee, 

Shall name thee Adele Josephine. 

Sweet babe! be ours the task to find, 

As best 'tis given us to know, 
The means to guide thy tender mind 

The way the Father'd have thee go; 
May all thy life's sojourning be 

But lightly touched with pain and care, 
And may His grace abide with thee. 

In ev'ry state and everywhere. 



-^- 



BLIND AGNES. 

"How pleasant feels the warm and gentle breeze, 
Laden with the perfume of the blooming fields 
And vocal with the songs of murmuring trees! 
I know not how the summer scene appears. 
Neither do I know the flowers it yields, 
Nor birds, whose songs celestial fill my ears; 
I cannot view the works formed and designed 
By the Almighty will, for I am blind. 

"Pray, grant to me the guidance in thy power 
And lead me out to tread the velvet sward. 
That I may pass a pleasant, pensive hour 
Amid the beauties of the sylvan shade; 



200 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

For with its varied sounds my soul beats in accord, 

As harps aeolian, in a tree top laid, 

Vibrate the language of the passing breeze, 

In changeful, heavenly songs and harmonies." 

Such were the words, expressed in sweetest tone. 

Blind Agnes uttered when the sun was high 
And pouring down, directly from his throne, 

Effulgent rays from out the cloudless sky, 
As all along the crooked lane that leads 

Out to the woods, we slowly walked along, 
Inhaling odors of the flowery meads. 

And hearing music of the feathered throng. 

When by the margin of the woodland place, 

When first the grass felt soft beneath her feet, 
A pleasant smile illumed her thoughtful face 

As if her soul with pleasure was replete; 
And when the whispering foliage overhead 

Shut out the heating glare of yellow light. 
And all around the emerald sod was spread, 

Her face grew radiant in her full delight. 

Between the gnarled growth of centuries, 

Whose crooked limbs each other interwove. 
We walked and listened to the gentle breeze 

Make music in the verdure high above; 
And when an opening woo'd a sunbeam through. 

She stopped within the shadows darkened rim, 
To listen to a soft and plaintive coo. 

Prelusive to some woodbird's daily hymn. 

From branch to branch then trilled responsive notes. 

Till ev'ry spray on all the clustering trees 
Awoke vibrating to the thousand throats, 

Concordant in their pleasing harmonies; 
Nor moved she when their songs spasmodic grew, 

But statue-like, or if as spell bound there. 
She stood, her poor eyes darkened to the view, 

And such a face methinks as angels wear. 

While thus she stood, from the prolific ground 
A wild flower cluster I had gathered up, 

And with a blade of millet deftly bound 
Fair daisy, dandelion and buttercup; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 201 

The woodland gleanings in her hand I placed, 
And saw the joyful smile the flowers brought, 

As o'er their leaves her fingers lightly traced 

The form and beauty that kind nature wrought. 

Deep in the shade of spreading beech and oak 

We loitered from the post meridian sky, 
In quietude save when a wood bird broke 

The solemn silence for a mate's reply; 
Meandrous walks, unmarked by other feet, 

Traversed we o'er the cool and yielding sod. 
While oft her lips, in utterances sweet. 

Would praise the goodness of the bounteous God. 

Emerging from the dim, umbrageous wood 

Into the glitter of the waning sun, 
Close to the margin of a spring we stood. 

The fountain head from which two streamlets run; 
Then safely on we sauntered, side by side, 

Back to the dwelling in the little town, 
Whence I had led her, in the warm noontide, 

To seek again when shades were falling down. 

Sweet Agnes! blind to all terrestrial scenes, 

Thy life a dark and never ending night. 
Through which a sun-sent gleam ne'er intervenes. 

Where is the heart that pities not thy plight? 
And pitying, aid thy nature loving soul 

To dream and ponder in her fairest bowers. 
Or o'er uncultured, verdant fields to stroll, 

When earth and air are redolent of flowers. 



-^- 



A RIDDLE OF LIFE. 

What if a miracle were now 

Wrought for thy sake alone, 
To live forever here; would'st thou 

The wondrous gift disown? 
Ah, lustrous eyes ! thou thinkest not, 

The world is much too fair ; 
Thou would'st not waive a single jot 

Of time, nor pleasure spare. 



202 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

And thou who showest Time's deep trace, 

Would'st thou the gift refuse 
If called to answer face to face, 

And it were thine to choose? 
"For decades four more good than ill 

Hath made my living bless'd; 
Were I to bear another still. 

Great woe 'twould be at best." 



IN HER BABY'S CHAMBER. 

"Please tell me a story, mamma," 

A dear little sick child said. 
As with a deft hand she raised him. 

To soften the crumpled bed; 
And when she had smoothed the pillow. 

Brushed back his dishevelled hair, 
She cuddled him in the cool sheets 

And crooned him his baby air. 

"O, mamma, don't sing — a story." 

"Well, once on a time I knew 
A good natured, sweet little darling. 
And he, dear, was just like you; 

His grandma had sent him a real lamb 
All covered with nice, soft wool. 
Which grew out so thick and so curly, 

'Twould make your little crib full. 

"He fed it well in the morning hour, 

At noon-time and then at night, 
With fresh, sweet milk from the black-faced cow, 

And clover-heads red and white; 
And then when it grew so fat, so fat. 

The nice bell ribbon it wore 
Sunk deep in the wool around its neck 

Till no one could see it more. 

"And it would follow its master close 
Most every place he led; 
Its pretty brass bell would ting-a-ling 
Whenever it shook its head; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 203 

And once, when Willie had made for it 

A bedding of straw, thick laid, 
It pushed the stable-door open wide 

And out in the dark night strayed. 

"And then the innocent, tender lamb 

Went on and on in the night, 
With no one to heed its bleating call. 

And no one to ease its fright; 
The birds in their nests were sound asleep, 

The coneys were all in bed, 
And even its friend, the black-faced cow, 

Was safe in the cattle-shed. 

'And over the hill it went, it went, 

And down on the other side; 
Its feet so sore from the gravel stones 

It lay on the ground and cried; 
It ba-a'd and ba-a'd and nobody heard 

The frightened, poor baby sheep, 
And down — and — down — its — drowsy — eyes — closed 

In trou — ble for — get — ting sleep." 

And still in the gathering twilight 

The mother sits silent there; 
Perhaps she is brooding, brooding, 

Perhaps she is wrapped in prayer; 
For when a wrought soul is in ferment 

Of trouble, through fear of ill, 
The dark-tinted lees of life's cauldron 

O'ercloud the most hopeful will. 



DEVOTION. 



With broken limb and nervous strain. 

Resulting from a shotgun brood, 
She flies to where her young complain 

With gaping bills, for warmth and food; 
She cuddles them, though racked with pain, 

And shares a worm, imbued with blood, 
Then off she flies to grub again — 

Exemplar of true motherhood. 



204 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



DAY DREAMS. 

A vine clad cottage near a road, 
By which a brawling mill stream flowed; 
An ancient willow, branching wide, 
Drooped o'er a rugged fence's side. 
And bathed its branch-tips in the tide 
That laved the shabby, lone abode. 

An aged man, all bent and shrunk, 
Dozed on a bench, half turned to punk, 
Beneath a tree; his trembling gum 
A black pipe pressed, an old-time chum, 
That gave him manj'- a pleasant crumb 
Of comfort, by the old tree trunk. 

What makes the time-worn pleasant face 

So very calm? His mind in space 

Is wandering, is stretching back 

Along the faded primrose track 

Of long ago, where, white and black 

Meet pain and pleasure, trace on trace. 

His childhood home and parents, too; 

His brothers, sisters, rise to view; 

The sandy bank, the lily-pond. 

Where splashed the crowd of youngsters fond; 

The orchard's tempting feast beyond. 

And all so lasting, all so true. 

And onward with the march of years, 

The dearest of them all appears; 

A winsome lass, so loving, trim. 

Who stayed a little while with him, 

Then wandered out into the dim 

Spirit land, he sees through mem'rj^s tears. 

And two before him now arise 
To gladden his old life; bright eyes. 
That bring the sunshine to his heart; 
Warm lips, that make his dull blood start; 
Soft arms, whose squeezes joys impart; 
They live again in childhood's guise. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 205 

And as the bygone reappears, 
His poor eyes scan the cloudy tiers 
While dreaming of the beauteous land 
Where wife and children, hand in hand 
Abide, and scarce can understand 
The blessed vision he reveres. 

Ten thousand times ten thousand more 
They happier seem than e'er before; 
She, just the same dear youthful bride, 
With ev'ry grace intensified; 
And they, the darlings of his pride, 
Far sweeter than in days of yore. 

No sun, no moon, no stars, no night, 

Appear before his mental sight; 

But pastures green and murmuring rills. 

With verdant vales and emerald hills, 

And over all a peace that fills 

His soul as with celestial light. 

And gates he sees; three east, three west, 

Three north, three south, through which the bless'd 

Pass ceaseless in, and each is lost 

Amid the countless angel host, 

Whose welcome time does not exhaust. 

But makes more clear and manifest. 

Unnumbered souls he sees within. 
By love and mercy cleansed from sin; 
He hears sweet songs of joy go round. 
Till all the hills of Heaven resound. 
When one repentent soul's unbound 
From stain and earth, and enters in. 

He sees the weary ones of earth 
Resplendent in the New Life birth; 
He sees Love's essence overflow 
In myriad streams the world below, 
That man may feel, and trust, and know 
Of Mercy's care there is no dearth. 

But over all the glorious sight. 
He sees his own, his heart's delight, 
And pleadingly his poor lips part 



2o6 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

To call them to his longing heart — 
But pain awakes and muscles smart 
When age defies the dews of night. 

So there, where linger day's last beams, 
Beneath the tree he fondly dreams. 
Some day, perhaps ere one may think. 
We'll hear old Time has snapped the link. 
So worn and weak, and let him sink, 
To rise again by ageless streams. 



^- 



AT DUSK. 

Waning light, waning tide. 

Each to rise again to-morrow, 
Both their measured time abide. 

Bringing dole of joy and sorrow. 
Waning days, waning years, 

Fainter growing, ceasing never. 
Leading on to where appears 

Light, and peace, and bliss forever. 



-Jf 



TEMPTATION. 

A hart upon a lofty mount 

A shady glen sees far below, 
Where purls a stream from nature's fount 

And green, luxuriant grasses grow; 
Though rocks and chasms lie between 

The cooling water and the height. 
With wary tread and vision keen 

He gains the valley of delight. 

But brief the pleasure finds he there, 

Though food abounds and waters flow, 
For, crouching by it's hidden lair, 

He spies a life-destroying foe; 
Then swiftly crag and chasm he leaps. 

All trembling in his backward flight. 
Unwearied on his way he keeps 

Till safe upon the mountain height. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 207 

'Tis thus with us who fain would rise 

To mountain peaks of soul-pure air; 
Full oft we turn our longing eyes 

To blasting scenes, enticing fair; 
Full oft descend into the glen 

Of smirching thought and low desire — 
God grant us strength to turn again 

And mount the peak-tops high and higher. 



-^. 



BUT WHAT OF THOSE? 

The myriads of earth's people everywhere 

Instinctive turn their thoughts to something higher, 
Imploring in acquired or soul-prompt prayer. 

Or mild or. frenzied act, their hearts desire; 
Most bless'd are they who know and trust in Him, 

The Maker, Judge, who looseth from distrain; 
But what of those whose light's a feeble glim? 

And of the heathen? Are their longings vain? 



AS A WANDERING BIRD. 

As a wandering bird 
Far away from its nest, 
When its plumage is stirred 
By a storm-laden blow, 
Wings its way swiftly back 
To its haven of rest. 
Though the clouds gather black 
And the way's far to go, 
Seldom ceasing its flight, 
Though the wind beats its breast, 
Till its home is in sight 
And its pinions find rest. 

So with me in this hour, 
When the bloom-laden trees 
In the wind shake a shower 
On the grass, where I'm spread; 
The dear wish of my soul 
Wings its way on the breeze 



2o8 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

To the weary one's goal 
In the realm overhead; 
And the pith of my plea, 
Like Elijah's the blest, 
'Neath the juniper tree, 
Is for rest, endless rest. 



AN UP-STREAM WIND. 

On the banks, among the trees. 
Blows the wind in wailing moan, 
And the river, ill at ease, 
Scores the sedge in angry tone. 
While its ripples seem to flow 
Up-stream, though they downward go. 
As a poor sick body thinks 
Oft it's gaining while it sinks. 



-^. 



THE RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD DAYS. 

"I see the moon and the moon sees me, 
God bless the moon and God bless me. 
There's grace in the kitchen, there's grace in the hall. 
The grace of God be about us all.". 

How often in the after years the thoughts of child- 
hood rise 

And bring with them the memories that distance ne'er 
denies; 

It matters not if they were rich, poor, well to do at 
times, 

The children, high and low alike were happy in their 
rhymes. 

From "Ring-a-ring-a-rosy" through a dozen games or 

less. 
They played and sang, they laughed and romped with 

vim and cheeriness, 
And though their play was not devoid of squabbling 

now and then, 
The pouting quickly passed and they were noisy 

friends again. 



BRAMBL ES AND TWIGS OF SONG 209 

How often, sitting on the curb that lined the quiet 

street, 
With bright eyes turned toward the East, the rising 

moon to greet, 
In sing-song unison they'd join, repeating the old 

rhyme: 
"God bless the moon and God bless me," in somewhat 

ragged time. 

'Tis strange how out of mem'ry's depths the children 
all arise 

Above the many one has seen since then, with self- 
same eyes; 

How fair they look, how sweet they are to orbs that 
need repair. 

Which long ago, with perfect sight, ne'er deemed 
them over fair. 

It may be so with the great yew outspreading by the 

door — 
One of a dozen saplings left, set forty years or more — 
Had it the power of retrospective vision of our kind. 
To think, compare their fresh, smooth bark with its 

own time-worn rind. 

And yet, on sober second thought, devoid of luring 
dreams. 

They, too, have borne the brunt of Time and wear its 
signal seams; 

Or in the realm where no decay can shrivel form or 
face, 

Enjoy the rhymes of praise etern, ne'er heard in mun- 
dane space. 

I see the same old moon to-night, I see the same old 

sky, 
In mind I see the same old street, the children's names 

I try; 
And as I count them one by one their features I recall. 
And pray the grace of God they asked may be about 

us all. 



210 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



ON OLD CATAWBA'S BANKS. 

Where the yellow gleams of sunshine 

Ripple brightest all the year, 
And the green banks, sloping gently, 

Kiss the river, swift and clear; 
Where the mocking-bird is singing 

In the perfumed woodland ways, 
Stands a shaded vine-clad cottage. 

Where she lived in dreamy days. 

There, like blooms that decked the waysides 

In the pleasant Summers flown, 
Grew a fair and gentle maiden. 

That one hoped to make his own; 
But the fond dream faded, vanished. 

When another sought the prize, 
For she could not hide the love-light 

Beaming in her honest eyes. 

He was young and such a lover 

As would fill a guileless mind, 
Light of spirits, free of promise. 

Fair of name and passing kind; 
So, beneath the green gold shimmer 

Of the list'ning tulip trees. 
Like a lord of love he won her. 

With a wealth of tender pleas. 

Then the golden days flew swiftly, 

Dropping joy to the blythe maid, 
While the cheery bob-white's whistle 

'Round the thrush's love-song played; 
While the peaceful river flowing 

To the sea's compelling charms. 
Seemed an omen of the future. 

When she'd seek her husband's arms. 

Oft-times, when the dawn's awakening 

Presages a glorious day, 
Storm clouds OA^erspread the zenith 

Ere the morning hies away; 
So there spread a startling blackness 

O'er the trusting maiden's life. 
When a pale and sad-faced lady 

Proved she was his year-old wife. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 211 

Love oft dies, yet lies unburied 

In full many a chastened breast, 
Whence arise angelic pity 

For the lives that ills invest; 
This we know of her who suffered, 

Who was spent for others' good. 
Seeking, finding, cheering, helping, 

With the zeal of motherhood. 

Thus the simple story endeth. 

Leading not to place nor time, 
Save its alpha and omega 

Centered in a fair south clime; 
Where, to-day, the brave heart lieth 

In a sunny, weed-grown grave, 
Nigh the bosky nooks and slopings 

Of Catawba's restless wave. 



OCTOBER. 



The frost lies light upon the grass 

Which yesterday showed thinning brown; 
Along the ways dead leaves amass 

And twirl like dull flakes falling down; 
The hills and fallows are aglow. 

And maple's gold and sumach's blaze 
With golden-rod and aster, show 

The glory of October days. 



A GRANDMOTHER'S REVERIE. 

All nature seems gloomy and sad, and 

As I sit and watch the rain-drops 

Dash against the panes, my mind wanders 

Far back in the pleasant past, and the picture 

Of Bessie Moore glides into my memory. 

Sweet Bessie! I fancy I see you 

Again, with your bright eyes, and sweet. 

Sad smile, as you pass among the children. 

Speaking to them words of love and tenderness, 

Teaching their young hearts to love one another. 



212 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

But you are an angel now, darling, 

No more will your hopes be blighted; 

No more will you walk the old beaten 

Path across the common; no more will 

The children look for you with anxious eyes, 

As they wait by the schoolhouse for your coming; 

And no more will I feel your throbbing head 

Upon my bosom, nor hear your sweet voice 

Telling the secrets of your pure, guileless heart. 

Oh, it was sad, sad; he loved you, darling, 
Loved you better than life itself; it was pride 
That drove him away; he could not bear 
To be called "presumptuous, upstart"; no, 
His mind was too superior to bow in 
Submission to the taunt; he considered 
Himself the equal of his persecutor, and flung 
Back the assertion as a base falsehood. 

Don't blame him, darling; no truer heart 
Ever beat in human breast; he left to 
Prove his superiority over the one who 
Called him "upstart," and to prove by his 
Acts what he intended. 

But sorrow and 
Disappointment in not hearing from the 
Wanderer, stole the rose from your cheeks, love, 
And weakened your once elastic step. 
The young minds you took such pleasure 
And pains in teaching, noticed the change, 
And wondered why it was; the old doctor 
Prescribed change of air and shook his 
Head in doubt; while none but myself, 
Love, knew what the trouble was. 

I told you that he was not false, that he would soon 
Return and claim his promised bride; yet 
You would not believe it; you could not 
Believe that in all his wanderings you were 
His north star, his delight and only love. 
But why dwell on this, darling; you are 
An angel now, and he is the poor man 
Who is always murmuring, "where is Bessie?'' 
"Where is Bessie?" Poor creature! his is 
A sad lot, and yours, darling, a happy one. 
He came back to us six months after we had 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 213 

Laid you in the grave, love, and found that 
You had departed; he came to my house 
And I told him all; I told him of your 
Deep and undying love, of all the secret 
Wishes of your heart, and I told him, darling, 
Your last, your dying wish. He sat on 
A chair beside me, his face buried in his 
Hands; in a few minutes he arose to depart. 
And Oh! the change in his face I can never, 
Never forget. His eyes, the eyes you were so 
Proud of, dear, were fierce and wild, his hands 
Clenched, and his face as pale as could be. 

He turned to me and said fiercely, "You have 
Taken Bessie away; tell her to meet me to-night 
At the schoolhouse; tell her I have not 
Changed, that I love her better now than ever." 
And he departed, love, knowing not what he 
Was doing. Out in the cold night he went; 
I followed and implored him to remain, but he 
Heeded me not, and only turned his pale and 
Strangely changed face away from me as he said: 
'I am going to meet Bessie by the school-house." 

My heart ached, darling, to see the change, for 
I loved him for your sake. He now wanders 
Around the place in the daytime, and at night 
He goes to your grave and spends the long silent 
Hours on the grass-grown mound that covers 
Your loved form; he brings flowers from the fields. 
And shells from the seashore and scatters 
Them over your last earthly home; and whenever 
He sees a pretty child in the street he always 
Exclaims, "Bessie's baby, Bessie's baby." 
I treat him very kindly, darling, for I know 
That in your bright, starry home you see him 
And me apd bless us both. Many days will 
Not pass 'till you meet again in Heaven; his 
Poor form is wearing away, and decay is as legibly 
Written in his eyes as on the leaves of the trees 
This wild Autumn night. You are happy 
Now, love, and if you can be more happy, it 
Will be in a few short days, when you will 
Meet your first and only love in the land 
Where separation can never be. 



214 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



HAPPY HEART. 

Happy heart and pleasant face. 

Who could long resist thy sway? 
Thine the gift, in ev'ry place 

Tinting brighter life's dark day; 
Strong perennial bloom thou art. 

Smiling in the light or dearth. 
Storm nor drought can dull the heart 

Sunshine entered at thy birth. 

Ministering angel thou 

To the lives that sorrow knows; 
E'en a word from thee, somehow, 

To the stricken strength bestows; 
Helpfulness with thy life blends, 

Which thou givest where there's need, 
Cheerfulness and thee are friends. 

Friends that love their kind indeed. 

One would think that no sad hour 

Ever hovers o'er thy years; 
Little know they mem'ry's power 

Till 'tis seen in chambered tears; 
They who love thee so but see 

Only sunshine where thou art, 
While the shadow tenderly 

Twines around thy fond, true heart. 



-X- 



SYMPATHY. 

Unto a mind perturbed in sorrowing hours 

Thou'rt like the gentle dew to wilting flowers, 

Or like a loved cool hand upon the brow 

That burns and throbs with pains which through it 

plough; 
Thou art the type of ev'ry good that flows 
From kindly souls, to ease another's woes, 
And tint the dark distresses of the mind, 
When gleams of happiness were hard to find. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 215 



TIME'S CHANGES. 

How very short it seems, when looking back 

Across the distance that divides 
Old age from young; and yet the track 

Seemed never ending in life's morningtides; 
So, too, to childish eyes, the level sea 

Is walled by the horizon's rim, 
Which marks for him the world's extremity, 

Where no great ship could carr}^ him. 

The years roll on — unheeded for a time — 

The vision's reach looks now not far 
To sail; the little one has gained boy's prime; 

The gates of knowledge now unbar; 
Into the latitude of man's estates 

He enters, peer of cogent minds; 
Perchance success upon his efforts waits, 

But nay or yea, his place he finds. 

Amidst swift currents of the teeming years 

He steers by chart, or random sails, 
And soon or late the sure result appears. 

And with it scars of ages flails; 
Then by his side, perhaps, a little one 

Points where the far horizon bends. 
And asks if where he sees the setting sun 

Is where the great big world ends. 

The parent nods, clasps tight the clinging hand, 

His mind the time recalling when 
He, too, so questioned one where now they stand, 

And answer gives as given then, 
And thinks how like a shell that skims the sea. 

By deft hand thrown, is life's brief race; 
A while it skips the surface, swift and free. 

Then weakens, sinks, and leaves no trace. 



2i6 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



DECORATION DAY. 

Strew flowers on the graves of the dead, 

'Tis a tribute of love that we owe 
To the mem'ry of heroes, whose life blood was shed 

On the field with their fronts to the foe. 
Embracing the cause each deemed just, 

To the carnage of war they marched forth, 
Now the conflict is past, scatter flowers o'er the dust 

Of the braves of the South and the North. 

O, mothers and wives of the slain, 

O, children of sires ye regret, 
O, kindred of men whose blood crimsoned the plain, 

Hill and valley, forgive and forget! 
Forget hate engendered by strife, 

Forgive all the crimes that it bred, 
In the garlands ye bring to the hilt sheath the knife, 

And the offering pledge to the dead. 

Plant beautiful flowers o'er the dust 

Of the loved who have crossed the dark tide 
'Mid peaceful surroundings, in soul-calming trust 

To awake on the bright other side. 
Renew in the cypresses spread 

O'er the beds of those sleeping below, 
The fadeless remembrance ye hold for the dead, 

'Tis a beautiful tribute we owe. 



THE MISSING CHILD. 

Fair Springtime's here and ev'ry budding thing 

On branching boughs and groundling twiglets swing 

In its caressing breath, and fairly smile 

That nipping winds and frowning skies must go; 

But vain, alas! 'twould be to seek for one 

Sweet bud that came ere early birds upon 

Their nests were set, stayed but a little while, 

And changed life's crowning joy to bitter woe. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 217 



SISTERS OF CHARITY. 

Quite often in the busy street 
The black-robed sisterhood we rneet, 
Whose pale, calm faces speak of peace, 
Whose lives are such as never cease 
To fill each passing hour with good — 
By those they serve best understood — 
Who've left behind, nor deem it loss. 
All vanities, to bear the cross. 

From homes of ease they willing go 
To menial tasks and scenes of woe; 
To teach the young the higher life. 
To spend and be spent in the strife ; 
.To seek the poor where they reside. 
In fetid airs, where ills abide. 
To soothe the dying, garb the dead 
And make the mourners comforted. 

We see them, old and in their youth, 
Pure quenchless lights of faith and ruth; 
Pure devotees from life to death. 
Of the meek Christ of Nazareth. 
And as they pass on duty's way, 
Their very presence seems to say: 
To us alone comes not the call, 
Sweet charity hath claims on all. 



-H- 



PLEASURE. 

Good be with thee, go thy ways 

To find that which thou seekest. 
Soon thou'lt know that Pleasure strays 

In sunlit scenes and bleakest; 
Heed well what its visage shows. 

If pure or soul repelling; 
One brings joy, and one breeds woes, 

Which need not the foretelling. 



2i8 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 

When the twilight falls around me. 

Casting shadows of its gloom. 
And the fire-flame sparkles brightly 

In the silence of my room. 
There's a restful change in lolling 

In a soft reclining chair. 
After hours of brain-tired toiling 

Over discounts, tret and tare. 

While the time-piece on the bureau 

Ticks the seconds as they flee, 
As if marking ev'ry pulse-beat 

That records the life of me; 
Making way for tell-tale creases 

In a forehead still quite fair, 
Smuggling in a few white threadings 

Underneath resisting hair. 

In such hours there come to greet me 

Faces from the vanished days; 
One by one they glide before me, 

In a visionary haze; 
Some go by, all unregretted, 

To the realms from which they come; 
Others tarry at my pleasure. 

Though their voices all are dumb. 

One there is, above all others. 

Whom I plead to linger long, 
Bright of eye and fair of feature. 

Dearest of the silent throng; 
Him I hold in spirit union, 

With the mystic power of thought, 
As a soul-voiced prayer unuttered 

Into precious peace is wrought. 

So it is that when night's curtain 

Dims his picture on the wall. 
Fragments of the olden passion 

On my longing senses fall; 
Seem to spread love's lasting pleasures, 

Which are barred from other eyes, 
As a miser's gold is hidden. 

Counted, fondled till breath flies. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 219 

It was when the frost-grapes ripened 

'Neath the amber crescent moon. 
That he spoke of war and country, 

And our parting'd be quite soon; 
It vvras there, while fire-flies flickered 

Round about us, that I knew 
Lives there are so true and tender. 

They can love their birth-land, too. 

It was not a coward feeling 

Throbbing in my heart and throat, 
When along the dusty highway 

Came the piercing bugle note; 
On they moved in marching order. 

Bloom of youth and ripe of years. 
True alignment, strict discipline, 

Wav'ring at each charge of cheers. 

Once again the leaves were dropping 

Dry and yellow in the lanes; 
Once again the Indian Summer 

Bathed the land in cooling rains, 
While poor mothers, wives and sweethearts 

Mourned for half a score of men, 
Deaf to drum-beat, bugle, roll-call. 

In a far ensanguined glen. 

Thus in weary, pensive moments, 

Such as fall on ev'ry one. 
Come the wraiths in slow procession. 

Till the last in air has gone; 
Then we rise from mem'ry's glamour 

Sad, perhaps with tear-wet eyes, 
To life's virile, ceaseless duties. 

Which no dreaming satisfies. 



UNREST. 



Tell me. Oh, tell me which way I should go 

To find the one place that I've long been in quest, 

Where wished for repose a worn body may know, 
And mind find the anodyne for long unrest? 



220 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

I've sought it in highways and low-ways of life, 

I've studied the sage's tomes, eye-fagged, brain-tired, 
The temples I've searched where heaven-wisdom is 
rife. 

And yet have not found the true solace desired. 

"Then come,'' said the pilgrim, "let's try Duty's road" — 
They trudged till the evening sun blazoned the 
west; 
At last, in God's acre green, dropping his load. 
He pointed and said, "here is peace, here is rest." 



-^- 



THE LAWD'LL PURVIDE. 

Yo pooh liddle orfundid kid, 

Yer mammy am gwine fur erway, 
De angels am cumin ter bid 

Her sperit no longah ter stay; 
Jest cum en mah cabin, pooh chile^ 

An ah'l tuk yer pooh mammy's place; 
De Lawd'll purvide yit erwhile 

De vittels, de clos, an de grace. 



•Jf- 



FAITH, HOPE, LOVE. 

Three little words, so wondrous, strong, 
So fraught with never ceasing good, 

That all the earth's uncounted throng 
They bind in bonds of brotherhood. 

Faith lights the soul, with it to guide, 
Life's pilgrim cannot stray afar; 

It proves the things to eyes denied, 
Infuses trust in things which are. 

Hope, buoy on life's troubled sea, 

E'en when the tempest breeds despair; 

Bright star of immortality, 
That leads the mind to over there. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 221 

Love, dearest gift to mortal given, 

Quintessence of joy's alchemy; 
Afflatus from the courts of Heaven 

When linked with tender charity. 

Hope, Love and Faith, with these to guide 
Thy footsteps through life's devious maze. 

Peace with thy spirit shall abide; 
And benedictions crown thy days. 



THE INEVITABLE. 

Wherever the wind may blow. 

From West all round to West, 
In ev'ry place there lives, I trow, 

Lives laden with unrest; 
Why whimper then, O heart, 

For what thou hast to bear? 
Each breathing thing must bear its part, 

And thou hast' but thy share. 



-^■ 



IN THE GLOAMING OF LIFE. 

The most pensive years in the life of man 

Should be when he has grown old; 
Say seventy-five as the shortest span 

Before he begins to mold; 
He's prone to look back then at youth's bright road, 

Or shadowy, which he will, 
And revel in thought at the good that it showed. 

Of sorrow for what was ill. 

As saplings are bent they are bound to grow; 

So with the acquiring mind; 
Its thought-bent is formed by what others know 

And give, which their brain-mills grind; 
And precious the gift which the grinder gives 

When life's on its upward trend. 
For knowledge is thought filtered through mental 
sieves, 

Increasing as years extend. 



222 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

A peaceful fair day in the heart of June 

Is like to the eve of him 
Whose life sped aright in its morn and noon, 

And down to its sunset dim; 
Who, mellowed and thought-ripe, goes gently down 

As goes the clear light of day, 
With books for his friends — which show never a frown, 

To suit him or grave or gay. 

Dear books! what a comfort and rest they've been 

Through every change of the years; 
In sickness and health, when sad or serene. 

In joy or when bordering tears; 
They are the friends ever present and true. 

Consolers, when most desired. 
In every realm of brain-thought, up to 

The Book of books. Heaven inspired. 



TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

In all thy acts let honesty be guide. 

So that thy mind may find but little cause 
For censure when grave conscience draws aside 

The veil that hides from human ken its flaws; 
But if, when contemplation peers within, 

A blot be found that mars its purity, 
Dear friend, resolve to bleach away the sin 

By truer living in futurity. 

Keep ever in the garden of thy soul 

The bloom of charity; its odors rise 
E'en from earth's lowliest ones, and fill the whole 

Of Heaven's pure ranks with joy that never dies; 
A helping hand outstretched in time of need; 

A kind word to the weary of earth's strife; 
A pleasant greeting, e'en a word indeed. 

May lead and cheer one toward a better life. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 223 

AT CLOSE OF DAY. 

Safe in their home grove, round, cosy nest filling. 
Lone birds and mated now rest as light wanes, 

Light dew is falling through air strata chilling, 
Silence all over the drowsy land reigns. 

Gray as the shade of a sea-gull's smooth pinions 

Spreads the vast ocean of ethereal space, 
Swift through the calm of its trackless dominions 

Wandering wild-geese their wingings retrace. 

Night falleth swiftly; now here and there gleaming 

Lights pierce the gloom through the window shade's 
lawn; 

Guardian of slumber ! guide each sleeper's dreaming, 
Bringing them vigor and rest ere the dawn. 

^ 



THE FIRST VIOLIN. 

He passed quite often through the street 

With his cased vioHn, 
A young orchestric, fair and neat. 

With hectic cheeks and thin ; 
When their week's repertoire was played 

The whole troupe went away. 
Save the First Violin, who stayed — 

And stays to this late day. 

And old and broad unburnished band, 

With foreign-like impress, 
They took from his long-fingered hand, 

With woman's tenderness ; 
Within 'tvv^as lettered "C to L, 

Mispah," and that was all ; 
No soul about the place could tell 

His home, nor name recall. 

Beside his bed, upon the floor, 

A manuscript was found. 
With bars, and notes, and rests all o'er 

The pages, roughly bound ; 
Between the staffs was hand-writ script, 

That none could understand. 
Until a fraulien from them lipped 

This lied of his own land : — 



224 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

The lily is a queen, 
A queen among the flowers, 

Whose royal throne is seen 
Upraised on em'rald towers. 

The rose is beauty's king, 
Who reigns by right divine, 

Of whom the minstrels sing, 
To whom the maids incline. 

No lily fair for me, 

Nor rose that e'er was set; 

I would a subject be 
Of the mild violet. 

For it is like my love, 

My blue-eyed sweet, my fair. 

Who round my heart has wove 
The silken bonds I wear. 

If they were iron chains 
I'd wear them for her sake, 

And deem their chafing gains, 
To save her heart an ache. 

For love is all in all 

Or is it nothing worth ; 
If it be less 'tis gall, 

'Twere well it had not birth. 

But, oh, my sweet, my sweet ! . 

My pearl beyond the sea ! 
When shall it be we'll meet. 

Where shall the meeting be ? 

Ach ! Gott im Himmel, grant 

A trusting spirit's call ! 
If, like a stricken plant, 

In flush of life it fall, 

Let ev'ry prayer of hers 

Love's poignant grief control ; 

Let all Thy grace confers 
Imbue her gentle soul ! 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 225 



WHEN SHALL WE MEET AGAIN? 

The hour draws near to say good-byes, 

Clasp hands and haste away. 
Nor feel ashamed of brimming eyes 

That plead for more delay; 
The well-springs of the heart must flow 

However strong suppressed, 
When from our treasured friends we go. 

Though sad and sore distressed. 

There may be but a moiety 

Of comfort in the thought 
That distance ne'er for you nor me 

Can quench what love has wrought; 
The same round sky shall cover us. 

The same orbs light our way, 
The same good Lord shall keep us, thus 

We'll meet again some day. 

Some day, some day we'll meet again 

Warm hearted, and chat o'er 
The pleasant days, grown dearer when 

They're farthest from youth's shore ; 
The lapse of time will surely bring 

Great change in me and you, 
But what reck we if each can sing 

Its song of friendship true. 

Then fill your glasses to the brim. 

Let pleasure rule the hour; 
Here's that we may be in the swim 

Of fortune's golden shower; 
Or if perchance our journey's end 

Be reached when far apart, 
May kind remembrance only, blend 

With sorrow of the heart. 



226 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

OLD SAINT ANN'S CHURCH. 
(1885.) 

Sequestered in a charming space 

Where Nature still is queen, 
With verdant vesture trailing wide, 

'Neath crown of leafy sheen; 
A gray stone tabernacle old, 

Of cruciform design, 
Uprises from a gentle knoll, 

Whence terraced walks decline. 

Though sixty years have vanished, 

The dear sanctuary stands 
In pristine strength and beauty, 

'Mid her tree-embowered lands ; 
Her bell is ringing as of yore. 

Her doors are open wide, 
Inviting saint and sinner 

To commune with God inside. 

Full many of her children, 

Sleeping in her slab-marked sod, 
With others, resting elsewhere, 

There imbibed the truths of God; 
Were guests at His own table, 

Were fed His precious food, 
Were strengthened, cleansed, exalted, 

With His holy peace imbued. 

And many too are lying there 

In long forgotten graves, 
On which the snow-sheet gently falls, 

The grass of Summer waves ; 
The great, the good, the cultured ones. 

The poor, the sad, the gay, 
In stone-hewed vault and mother earth, 

Await the judgment day. 

O Thou, to whom a thousand years 
. Are as a single day, 
Whose heavens declare Thy glory. 

Whose great mercy lasts alway; 
Who maketh the fierce storm a calm, 

The sea its channels keep, 
Whose righteousness like mountains is. 

And judgments like the deep; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 227 

Who'st promised to be with Thy church 

Till earthly things have ceased, 
Pour out Thy blessings on Saint Ann's, 

Her people and her priest ; 
Build up in them a tower of strength, 

Their love for Thee inflame, 
To Thy great honor, glory, praise. 

Through Christ, our Saviour's name. 



FORGIVENESS. 

(Isaiah 1:18.) 

Every evil word that men shall speak ; 

Every evil thought, though never spoken ; 
Every evil thing that they shall seek; 

Every evil vow that is unbroken ; 
Every evil act of sin's volition ; 

Every evil effort mind resolveth; 
Every evil stain, hy pure contrition, 

And Heaven's decree, shall be absolveth. 



THE LOT OF ALL. 

In this our life 'twere folly to expect 

The pleasant sunshine all the rounding year, 

Or let the shadows which its cares collect, 
Suppress the symptoms of reviving cheer. 

Into the core of every living soul, 
The weight of some calamity must fall, 

Or rumblings of its presence o'er them roll 
And leave behind the impress of its pall. 

'Twas ever thus, 'twill ever be the same 
With saintly mortal, they of world contempt, 

The countless plodders, those of brilliant fame — 
No station, rank, nor intellect's exempt. 

And yet we fret and fume and lose our poise 
When fortune flees, fate robs us of our best; 

'Twere wise to use the cure the bole employs : — 
Let young grief weep, Time's balm will do the rest. 



228 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

THY NEIGHBOR. 

Is he alone thy neighbor who 

Within thy circle moves, 
Or is it he, one of the few, 

Whose life thy mind approves? 
Nay, others, too; those needing aid 

In trouble, grief, or pain, 
And those whose will thou canst invade 

And turn to right again. 

K- 

SURSUM CORDA. 

Oh, soar from mental dells of thought 

Where brooding glumness dwells. 
Which makes the captive mind distraught 

And sweet delight repels. 
Lift up thy shrouded heart and see 

The myriad blessing's given. 
On earth, on sea, and sky, for thee, 

In this suburb of Heaven. 



A COUNTRY RAMBLE. 

The city's glare and torrid heat 

I've left a league behind, 
To wander on, with tireless feet 

And contemplative mind. 
Past humble cot and rich retreat, 

A cooler place to find. 

The road o'er which I slowly pass 

With dust is shoe-sole deep, 
Edged in with streaks of wilted grass. 

Through which a myriad black ants creep 
In ones and twos — now in a mass. 

No order do they keep. 

An ashen spray impedes their way 

And what confusion now ! 
The last rush on, the first delay, 

As if to ponder where and how 
The dizzy height they shall essay, 

A passage to allow. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 229 

The smaller one now takes the van, 

The others keep his track; 
Up, up he creeps full half a span, 

And, ah ! he slips and tumbles back ; 
And others follow out the plan 

And quickly fill each crack. 

I touch the tiny branch, and lo! 
They each and all take fright; 
What crushing they now undergo 

Escaping left and right, 
Half wild with fear, and rendered so 

By cause so very slight. 

How fragrant blows the balmy breeze 

Across the clover field; 
How magic is its power to please. 

What pleasure it can yield, 
When dusty roads and scenes like these 

Afford not ample shield. 

The red and white crowned clovers spread 

The field and fill it up. 
Save where a modest daisy head 

And yellow buttercup 
Are stretching from their hidden bed, 

The sunshine streams to sup. 

I'll loiter in this beaten path, 

Trod out by cloven feet. 
Then pass the turnstile near the rath, 

To where the streamlets meet, 
Where purls a cool and tempting bath 

In summer's sultry heat. 

These noble elms a pleasant shade 

Provide, nor can a ray 
Of summer's brightest sun pervade 

This spot at noon of day, 
For, high above, a broad arcade 

Extends along the way. 

How many centuries have fled 

Into eternity. 
Since first the seed-germ found its bed 

'Neath this gigantic tree? 
How many creatures since are dead? 

How rpany more will be, 



230 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Ere vernal winds shall cease to sigh 
Amid its drapery? 

Or piping birds no more supply- 
Its boughs with melody? 

In truth, like dust now flying by 
My body then will be. 

But where will be my soul? 

My flesh being but a clod; 
Will it have gained the blessed goal 

Where sinner never trod? 
Will it, while endless ages roll, 

Be nigh the throne of God? 

Momentous, spirit-thrilling thought! 

What have I done of good 
To gain the crown, so dearly bought 

With His most precious blood? 
Lord, little is the good I've wrought 

Compared with what I should. 

My name deep in this trunk I'll mark 

Above the warty knot; 
A tablet, graven in the bark, 

'Twill serve when I'm forgot ; 
Perchance be subject of remark 

By thousands unbegot. 

Sweet songster, hidden from my view 
Where topmost branches twme. 

Is it a mate that thou wouldst woo 
With warblings so divine? 

Or is it praise to yonder blue 
That prompts such strains as thine? 

Methinks the soul of song distills 

Its most celestial note 
And sense-inthralling turns and trills 

Within thy wondrous throat, 
Which, bubbling through thy bill, instills 

A charm where'er they float. 

This narrow path, this cool defile, 

How brain caprices mould 
It to a dim, deserted aisle 

Of tabernacle old. 
Whose branched supporters, pile by pile, 

The lofty roof uphold. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 231 



Beyond, the upraised altar stands, 

The sun rays, altar lights ; 
These boughs are priests with palm-joined hands, 

Whom holy thought incites; 
The chancel's where you limb expands 

And thyme-bank disunites. 

High penetrates the cross crowned spire 

Above the belfry's space. 
Whence brazen sounds emerge, expire, 

In chime and diapase, 
Conjunctive with the chanting choir, 

Concealed in verdurous place. 

Flows the beseeching litany 

Along the architrave; 
Responds the soft antiphony 

Adown the spreading nave ; 
Now voices swell in unity 

The soul rejoicing stave; 

"Glory be to God on high. 

And peace on earth, good will 
Towards men." The cadent voices die, 

And plumaged chatterers bill 
Their happiness as I pass by 

Toward the turnstile hill. 

Broad, flinty, unprolific height. 

White in the sweltering glow, 
Nor shrub nor weedy parasite 

Hath nourishment to grow 
Upon thy crown, e'en to requite 

The journey from below. 

Like thoughts from which bright hopes arise, 

Undim'd by doubts alloy. 
Perspective often beautifies. 

Where verities destroy, 
So distance dons thee in disguise 

Of verdure, to decoy. 

E'en yonder solitary bee 

In flower seeking flight, 
Wings over thy sterility 

Spread out beneath its sight, 
And hies to where fertility 

Invites it to alight. 



232 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

This grassless slope of sun dried clay, 

All channeled by the rain, 
Is lessening as I wend my way 

In tracks of broad wheeled wain, 
And that its load was new mown hay 

These droppings well explain. 

Now winding by the bend below 

Appears the welcome stream, 
Refulgent in the solstice glow 

Its many ripples gleam, 
As restlessly they onward flow 

Like thoughts in idle dream. 

Pelucid stream ! thy stony brink 

Hath scarce a need to be 
So crystal pure to tempt me sink 

My parched lips in thee, 
And from thy wasteful plenty drink 

A pleased satiety. 

No nectar fabled gods e'er quaffed, 

Nor rarest sparkling wine, 
Nor juice which bacchanalians daft 

Have oft proclaimed divine, 
Nor all combined can form a draught 

So excellent as thine. 

Dear Nature ! here amid thy bowers 

Of varied garnishment, 
The toil worn drudge his leisure hours 

May pass in blest content, 
And read in trees, and streams, and flowers, 

God's will and testament. 

O, that the decent poor would stray 

From squalid city streets, 
And spend their labor resting day 

Amid these fresh retreats, 
Where ev'ry rood invites delay 

To view its flowery sweets. 

Away from poison tainted airs 

Of crowded tenements; 
Away from noisome thoroughfares 

Where brazen vice frequents ; 
And in the temples nature rears, 

Breathe health reviving scents. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 2^3 

Here, purling down, the runnels meet 

And with each other link. 
And there the alder banks replete, 

From yonder nest like chink, 
With fragrant, cream-like meadow sweet, 

Down to the very brink. 

Upspringing from the shallow side 

And quivering in the flow 
Of the descending, gurgling tide, 

The dark green rushes grow. 
And tiny fishes through them glide 

Like arrows from a bow. 

Upon this grassless ledge I'll rest 

While eve comes on apace; 
Save cat bird voices from yon crest, 

Deep silence holds the place ; 
The day is fading in the west 

As I the roads retrace. 



^- 



THE BUTTERFLY. 

Beautiful downy thing of undulating grace, 
Cleaving the sultry air with rainbow tinted wings, 
Seeking, perhaps, to drop thine eggs, a fitting place 
That thou mayst light on in thy wanderings ; 
Wisdom displayest thou in doing Nature's stent, 
While I loll 'neath the trees and am content. 



GRAY HAIR. 

Nay, husband, stand not so erect. 

Bend your head down a little this way, 
Or be seated just here, for I'm sure I detect 

A long hair that's a positive gray ; 
Come, down with you now or I'll chide. 

And if that's unsuccessful I'll pout 
Till you stoop to my will, for it must not abide 

Where it is, if I can pluck it out. 



234 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Let me see — it hung back ,:>f your ear 

Like a silver white thread on dark ground, 
And it's strange, in this light, that it does not appear, 

But I'll search till the tell-tale be found; 
Ah ! here it is now and — my goodness, oh, my ! 

What a number, all gray, I behold 
Hidden under the black, and how thickly they lie ! 

Why, husband, how quick you've grown old ! 

Well, wifcj I should think it quite time 

For the rime of the years to appear ; 
When a man's edging fifty he's not in his prime, 

Any more than his dotage is near; 
Growing old? Yes, a twinge now and then, 

Plainly tells of the years gone apace ; 
And the babies we dandled grew women and men 

Since you came, a new bride, to this place. 

And the friends of our young days, whereto 

Have they gone, that our mem'rys retain? 
In the slab-dotted acres, in six feet by two 

Lasting mansions, for years some have lain ; 
While others, who yet stay behind. 

Like ourselves, age's symbols display. 
For the spools of our lives, as they daily unwind, 

Show the threads that foretell of decay. 

But blest we have been in our lives. 

And our children in homes of their own ; 
Though they've left the old nest your good teaching sur- 
vives, 

And our hopes to fruition have grown; 
What need we then care for the gray, 

Or the wrinkles and signs of old age? 
Ev'ry chapter of life's tome enjoyments convey 

Even to the penultimate page. 

5f 

DEARIE O. 

When hills were green which now are brown. 

And day by day was cheerie O, 
My bonnie laddie tripped them down. 

To see how fared his dearie O ; 
His dearie O, he named me then. 

His dearie O, he calls me yet. 
And through the years I love to ken. 

His care for me has never set. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 235 

My mother bade me to beware 

That he'd not change, grow weary O, 
For other lassies, quite as fair, 

Were courted and left dreary O ; 
My mother's gone, my lad's yet gay, 

Though not now fair, I'm cheery O. 
And all our chicks, from work or play. 

Come scampering to their dearie O. 

The days may come when I shall find 

My pretty's wings are weak no more. 
When I shall be of anxious mind 

About the mates with whom they'd soar; 
But come what may, sunshine or gloom, 

My heart's nest shall be cheery O, 
Where each by each may find a room 

Kept sweet and bright by dearie O. 



-Jf- 



AN OLD MAN'S SONG. 

I'm sitting in the gloaming, Mary Lyle, 

And pleasant thoughts are flitting through my brain. 
Of days when we went roaming, Mary Lyle, 

Amid the haunts we ne'er shall see again; 
I'm thinking of the day when by your side 

With trembling lip my vows of love had birth, 
You blushed and promised to become my bride, 

And I had gained my dearest wish on earth. 

Your hair was dark and flowing, Mary Lyle; 

Your winning eyes a deep and tender brown ; 
Your cheeks, like roses growing, Mary Lyle, 

Could never keep their healthful color down; 
Your merry voice was music to my ear, 

True happiness to see your pleasing smile, 
And naught on earth to me was half so dear, 

As you, my own, my precious Mary Lyle. 

We've journeyed on together, Mary Lyle, 

Through many scenes and many happy years ; 

We've clung each to the other, Mary Lyle, 
And shared each other's hopes, delights and tears; 



2z6 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

We've traveled with the wise and thoughtless throng, 
And mingled m life's turmoil, joy and strife; 

In peace and harmony we've jogged along, 
Congenial souls upon the road of life. 

i '■ ■ ' J i\ . 

Our brows are seared and wrinkled, Mary Lyle; 

Our eyesight tells the story of decay; 
Our hair is sparce and sprinkled, Mary Lyle; 

The freshness of our lives has passed away; 
I loved you when your form was plump and fair, 

When care and crease were strangers to your brow. 
When you had winning eyes and wealth of hair, 

I loved you, dear, — I love you better now. 



-5f- 



SONG OF A LONELY HEART. 

Would I were with you wherever you are, 

With you whom I'm longing to find, 
It matters not where, be it near or afar. 

If love but respond to each mind; 
Your eyes may be blue, may be black, brown or gray. 

Your form may be short or be tall. 
If only the charm of all charms wins a way 

To bind us forever, that's all ! 

For love is a monarch, and love is a slave, 

To serve with contentment for aye. 
To reign with all tenderness, ever be brave 

In joy or in sorrow alway; 
It heartens the life of a devotee true, 

It bears fortune's frowns till they fade, 
It lightens all burdens as naught else can do. 

And blesses the man and the maid. 

So time, chance or fortune, be swift and be kind, 

And lead two lorn hearts to their fate, 
For somewhere there breathes a responsive-like mind 

Awaiting the call of its mate; 
In chill days of winter, or waking of spring. 

In autumn or garlanded June, 
It matters not which, but be sure that you bring 

A heart keyed in unison soon ! 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 237 
THE WINTER OF DISCONTENT. 

Before a cheval glass she stands 

Intently studying therein; 
Now scans a likeness in her hands 

That limned her young and sweet and thin ; 
Her poor, creased cheeks and ashen lips. 

Her faded hair, her dim-grown eyes 
She gently pats with finger tips, 

While quelling tears, repressing sighs. 



-Jf- 



YOUNG LOVE AND OLD. 

When young love, yet in rapture new, 

Is warm, unselfish, sweet and true, 

It's like a tender opening flower 

In early, dewy morning hour; 

Or sweet and gay as strain that floats 

And floods the air, from joyous throats, 

Vibrating in its dulcet tones 

The song of songs the bosom owns. 

Old love, that's proven leal and true. 
Is like a scene of vernal view, 
Wherein bright blooms o'ertop the weeds. 
And regnant peace the vision leads; 
Or like a gentle, cooling breeze 
That fans the fevered brow to ease. 
While all the sky grows gray and dun. 
Save o'er the low departed sun. 



CUPID'S VICTIMS. 

Like carded, white bleached wool 

The cirrus clouds outspread, 
Backed by the sky's blue mull. 

With not a streak or thread; 
Broad meadow land below 

They trod, in sweet content. 
Each figuring to know 

The cost of food and rent. 



238 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

SEPTEMBER. 

The reign is o'er of summer's beauteous three, 

The charming maidens, August, June, July, 
Their crowns enrichments, changing noiselessly, 

September blazons as the days go by; 
Scant swelling buds her majesty doth see, 

But over all the realm her subjects vie 
To wear her variegated livery, 

And in it loyally to live and die. 



A BLIGHTED FLOWER. 

A tender bud in a garden grew. 

Which was tendered and nourished with greatest care, 

And screened away from the blighting air 

The chill days through. 

Its fragile stem in the south wind bent 
And its petals blushed when a zephyr kissed; 
Its sweet perfume, with the sunny mist 
The summer sent. 

And rich in bloom was the cherished flower 
When it opened its heart to a bee humming by, 
Which ravished the sweets that within it did lie 
One shining hour. 

Its beautiful leaves have withered away. 
And its delicate perfume is lost with them; 
Unlovely and lone is the blighted stem 
This dreary day. 



"A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM." 

A little child, a rosy, moon-faced darling, 
A budding beauty among the sweetest, best, 

A mine of innocence beyond all measure 
Save that by which all doting parents test. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 239 

The smiling toddler, straying on the greensward 
Amid the common bloomings of the field, 

Saw, resting in the shade, a sad-faced matron, 
And shyly gave a flower such places yield. 

Like mirrored snn-flash on an embowered lakelet 
Enwrap'd in gloom, which leafy branches cast, 

At once her sadness vanished, her face grew radiant, 
As though some brain-depressing thought had passed. 

The babe she fondled, love her eyes o'erflowing. 

While on her lap it rested in content. 
And sweetly prattled of the "pitty fowers," 

"The big cows mooing, wif two big horns bent." 

The worried mother found her precious strayling 
And sat her down beside it in the shade, 

And heard the sad one's spirit-breaking story, 
And lasting pleasure, which the baby made. 

"Six months ago my eldest child went from me. 
Since then my babies — Oh, my darlings! died; 

My husband's in the hospital now lying. 
And not a relative have I beside. 

"Your child's blest coming saved me from destruction; 

I thought of ending life, so hard to bear; 
But now I feel the tempting whisper weaken, 

And hope reviving bids me not despair." 



LONGINGS FOR HOME. 

O wind of the western zone 

Thou'rt welcome as flowers in May; 
There's never a breath that's blown 

From out of the lungs of day. 
Can set me longing, like thine, 

To hie from this human sea. 
Away from these bounds of mine 

To ranges where I would be. 



240 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

O bird in the prison wires, 

O elk from the woods beguiled, 
That pine for the meads and mires, 

The call of thy native wild; 
My eyes, poor imprisoned things! 

Could weep for thy sorry plight, 
Would be where the wood choir sings 

And follow their airy flight. 

Old home by the mountain edge, 

Thy mud-chinked rough logs I see; 
The nests where the wild geese fledge, 

The holes of the chicaree; 
The varied hues of the plains, 

Spread far as the vision roams, 
The march of the bullock trains 

In search of new prairie homes. 

The bare, brown rocks of the hills. 

Which rise toward the snowy clouds, 
Where camp-fires blazon the rills 

When night spreads her sable shrouds; 
Then yelps the gray wolfish pack, 

Or howls from a panther rise, 
And out by the cattle shack 

The whine of a coyote dies. 

Pure air, dry and clear to sight. 

Inflates the browned rancher's breast, 
Gives vim from the morning's light 

Through quick passing hours of rest. 
When owl hootings soothe the mind 

While they their dark vigils keep. 
When frogs their hoarse croakings grind. 

And cricket-chirps lull to sleep. 

O wind from the distant plain. 

Thou wanderest far to me. 
And bringest the wish, though vain. 

To be once again with thee; 
Away from these palaced streets, 

Their fanes and their stately domes, 
To live 'mid the wild retreats 

Of pioneer prairie homes. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 241 



OLD SONGS. 

It may be, while we're yet quite young, 
We like to hear the old songs sung, 
The dear songs pulsing from a heart 
From which no measures now can start; 
But still in mem'ry they're held dear, 
To gladden mind and please the ear, 
As when the singer tuned his lyre 
To sing of love or love's desire. 

Perhaps when we have left behind 
A simple lay someone may find, 
May find and deem it worthy choice 
To wake again with feeling voice; 
Then it will be an olden strain 
Sung over by the young again, 
As we now try the songs we know 
Which gushed from lips of long ago. 



POEMS OF NATURE 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 245 
THE WILD FLOWERS' DISPUTE. 

A woodbine trailing a hedgy wall 

Looked down on her sister flowers, 
And vauntingly said: 'T'm fairest of all 

Fair buds of the summer hours"; 
A zephyr, silently passing by, 

The egotist's boasting heard, 
And dallied with all the wild blooms nigh. 

To tattle it word for word. 

Then up from the land arose at once 

The voice of a flowery host. 
In ireful and derisive response 

To such an untruthful boast; 
Bold dog-rose shouted, "a lie, a lie" 

And ruffled his dress, pale pink. 
And Aaron's-rod, on a waste bank high. 

Refuted the claim in a twink. 

Bitter-vetch joined with silver-weed, 

Majorum with bottle-blue, 
Black-briony with musk-mallow agreed 

And into a passion flew; 
Fox-glove rattled her purple bells 

To summon her neighbors round, 
Who thronged from hedges and woods and dells. 

Rocks, lakes and ponds at the sound. 

Angelica linked with asphodel, 

Germander with tangle tare. 
Thorn-apple and hound's-tongue with speedwell. 

And iris with lady's hair; 
Sweet-johnswort, orchis and eglantine, 

Bitter-sweet, darnel and pea. 
Convolvulus, too, with them was seen, 

All angry as beauties could be. 

Then each had voice in a warm debate 

That wasted the sunniest hours. 
And utterly failed at last to rate 

The woodbine's rank among flowers; 
Sly fox-glove hinted she'd reign as queen. 

Then up spoke mild daffodill}^ 
Tf beauty the guerdon wins, I ween 

The crown's for sweet water-lily." 



246 BRAMBLE S AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Angelica waked from calm repose 

And gave it as her opinion 
That violet blue or briar-rose ^ ^ 

Should reign o'er their green dominion; 
Meadow-sweet raised her creamy face 

And moved that a vote be taken, 
Which of them all should grace the place 

Till winter should reawaken. 

'Twas then that woodbine first was seen, 

And scolded for her intrusion, 
But still she claimed her title of queen, 

Creating a great confusion; 
A foraging bee hummed busily by, 

Intent on his one pursuit, 
Who, hearing their cry, thought well to comply 

And settle the grave dispute. 

Into their midst alighted he, 

And wisely scanning each face, 
He smacked his lips, cute, covetous bee, 

And thus unraveled the case: 
"A delicate point this is, I fear, 

You've called upon me to decide, 
But I shall whisper in each one's ear, 

And all must be satisfied." 



Around he flew from cell to cell, 

Each one of nectar rifling, 
Until his sac was loaded well, 

Then ruled the case as trifling ; 
"Each one of you should be content." 

Said he, "while days are sunny, 
To fill the land and air with scent. 

And me, my dears,, with honey." 

Then altogether they agreed 

To do so ever after. 
And hied them to their homes with speed 

'Mid merry quips and laughter. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 247 

THE GREEN YOUNG YEAR. 

The leaves are full on bush and tree, 

The grass is lush and high, 
The blue sky smiles delightfully, 

The soft winds gently sigh ; 
The trees are whispering each to each 

Of fledglings 'mid their leaves, 
The nearby orchard bloomings preach 

Of what their sap conceives. 

The plumaged orchestra is out — 

Its prelude's long been played — 
The themes are varied, weaved about 

In open field and shade; 
The waterways play hide and seek 

As turn and tarn they wind, 
While day, with freshness in its beak, 

Flys fast. Care far behind. 



THE CALL OF THE HILLS. 

Come out to the hills ; they are calling and waiting 
For urban-tired toilers the summer days through; 

Quit drudging and moiling, let rest have a sating, 
And loll in the arms they have open for you. 

Come to their embraces, for freely they're given, 
And sweet is the breath they exhale from their lungs ; 

And soft is the sleep-wain in which guests are driven 
To slumberland, sung to by wind-lulling tongues. 

The lowlands, like serfs at the feet of a master. 

Receive the dawn's blush when the hill-tops are filled ; 

And night-darkness floods the vale thicker and faster, 
As though from some height-hidden caldron 'twere 
spilled. 

The waifs of dame nature grow stronger and grosser; 

The giants of Boreas here have full swing; 
The spirits of soul-thought and soul-song come closer, 

Exalting the mind with the tidings they bring. 



^48 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



ECHOES OF SUNNY DAYS. 

Twixt fields of green and a light blue sky, 
The soft west wind and the nodding boughs, 
The swish of scythes and sweet smelling mows, 
The whiring of blackbirds winging by; 

The chat of hay-makers, strong of wind, 
The grind of whetstones on dulling blades, 
The horses champing 'neath branching shades. 
The rounding of ricks by arms, bronze-skinned; 

The piercing yells of the touselled boys 
Atop of the fragrant, sun-cured hay, 
The piling it through the barn-loft way, 
'Mid monkey tricks and chattering noise; 

I 

The milking of udders in early morn, 
And driving the herd to grazing land. 
The journey down to the railroad stand 
With wool from the sheep-flock lately shorn ; 

The morning strolls, when the East showed bright. 
By brakes, dew-bending o'er fibrous loam, 
Whence fragrant odors of woodlands roam 
To spray the breather, from stills of night ; 

The appetite gained for that long lost, 
The kind that nibbling cannot put down. 
Are all rewards for a month from town 
With dear old Nature, the healing host. 



TRAILING ARBUTUS. 

It shyly peeps through melting snow, 
Beside a gaunt-arm'd sheltering tree. 

As if to see drear Winter go, 
And smile at April's augury; 

Its russet leaves a symbol clear 

That Flora's hosts are springing near. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 249 

THE ROUND OF TIME. 

A bud peeped down at the fresh-loosed soil 

Embracing its suckling roots, 
With never a thought of the care and toil 

Which nourished the sprouting shoots; 
Then turned its gaze on a full-blown rose, 

Down-hanging above its head, 
And cried, "0 beauty of all that grows, 

I would I were you instead." 

"I would I were you, you radiant queen, 

So regally robed in pink; 
With all my leaf lovers, garbed in green, 
^ I'd revel in joy, I think; 
I'd ^ smile at the baby-breeze's sigh, 

I'd flirt with the rumpling blast, 
And coax my wish from the gracious sky, 

That I might forever last." 

The flushed rose bent to the winsome bloom, 

Caressingly low it said : 
"Dear child of the thorn-wood's fragrant womb 

On each of us beauty's shed; 
Thy pinky face is so fresh and sweet. 

In bonnet of tender green. 
That never a bloom more fair, complete. 

In all our parterre was seen." 

"My reigning hours on swift wings go by, 
My sweetness dwindles with them; 

A few short days and my petals die 
And drop from the pining stem; 

Thy life shall sweeten from sun to sun. 
Grow rich in developed grace, 

And rule till the hour thy duty's done- 
Then others will fill thy place." 



SONGTIME. 



Blossoms white upon the trees, 
Pink and white on bushes; 

Welkin filled with melodies 
Bubbling out of thrushes; 



250 B RAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Bees a-humming as they pass 

To the purple clover; 
Cowslips whispering to the grass, 

Meekly bending over. 

Buttercups 'tween yellow walls 

Holding dewdrops tightly, 
Glistening where the sunshine falls 

On their edges brightly; 
Daisies waking out of sleep, 

Spread their dainty lashes; 
Dandelion ball clocks keep 

Time of zephyr flashes. 

Pimpernal and daffodil, 

Stichwort, fumatory. 
Lady-orchis and crane-bill, 

Deck the land in glory; 
Hellibore and hyacinths, 

Clematis, bell-flowers, 
Buglosses with bright blue tints, 

Brighter make the sunny hours. 

Primroses with crimpled leaves. 

Yellow blooms are blowing; 
Blue-bells, friends of colder eves, 

Beauty still are showing ; 
Violets, anemones, 

Lilies-of-the-valleys, 
Forget-me-nots and sweet hearts-ease, 

Scent the woods, fields, wastes and alleys. 



A SUMMER MORNING. 

The morning sun is shining 
On the distant eastern hills, 
On the meadows in the valley 
And the sparkling forest rills; 
On the bosom of the streamlet 
Flowing onward to the sea, 
And the rainbow-tinted flowers 
Growing in the fallow lea. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 251 



The birds are singing merrily. 
And fill the morning air 
With music, sweet and charming, 
As they flutter here and there; 
And from their cosy burrows 
Hidden deep within the ground, 
The timid rabbits venture. 
Skipping cautiously around. 

Along the narrow wagon road, 

From fence and tree and bush, 

Is heard the joyful music 

Of the blackbird and the thrush; 

And far away toward the clouds. 

Above the field of corn, 

The sky-lark, with his glorious song, 

Is welcoming the morn. 

The linnet and the blue-winged jay. 

The yellow-bird and wren, 

With many other beauties 

From the thickly wooded glen, 

Fly o'er and o'er the spreading fields 

Of waving oats and wheat. 

And sing and twitter as they go, 

With happiness replete. 

The laboring bees are buzzing 
As from flower to flower they stray, 
Extracting from their tiny cells 
Sweet nectar, then away 
They fly toward their nests, 
To leave their precious store, 
And hasten to the fields again 
To seek and gather more. 

The dainty, gauze-winged butterflys 
Of yellow, brown and white, 
Are wafted by the zephyr 
Through the rays of golden light, 
They rise and fall and rise again 
Upon the gentle breeze. 
And wander on 'till lost to sight 
By intervening trees. 



252 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

The limpid brook glides silently 

And swiftly from its source, 

And winds through wood and valley, 

As it gurgles on its course ; 

And here and there along its marge 

Green rushes thickly grow. 

Commingled with the stately flag, 

And lilies white as snow. 

O, happy they who live and move 

Anear the glorious trees^ 

Who hear the warbling of the birds 

And feel the balmy breeze, 

Who see the grass and shrubs and flowei 

Spring from their parent sod. 

Proclaiming by their beauty 

The omnipotence of God. 

«• 

RURAL SOLITUDE. 

Who has not felt betimes in mood 
To seek the pleasant solitude 
Of mossy banks, sequestered lanes, 
Where Nature undisturbed reigns ; 
Where mind aweary or oppressed, 
May find fair scenes to interest. 
And where the physical may share 
The boon of fresh and fragrant air. 

Here, far from trade's emporiums, 
The sound of barter never comes ; 
No wrangling over bargains made 
In all this shady colonnade; 
A quiet hangs about the place 
Like that which hovered o'er the space 
Of Eden, when man first espied 
A smiling consort by his side. 

The tenants of the wood and glade 
At man's approach hie off, afraid; 
The water-rat dives to his hole ; 
Quick burrows in the earth the mole; 
The birds and squirrels, here and there. 
Seem not in fear of shot or snare, 
When from the hickory's waving top 
The nuts adown the branches drop. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 253 



Fit place it is for anchorite 
His carnal weaknesses to fight; 
Temptation from the world of siri 
This sombrous grove ne'er enters in; 
But rather is the mind upled 
To the Creative Source instead, 
In praise and thanks for ev'ry good 
Received from Him in plenitude. 



LATE AUTUMN. 

Latter days of Autumn, welcome! 

Now thy glorious beauty's fled, 
Leaving thee her crowns and mantles 

Bare and sere around thee spread; 
Over all the sombre woodland, 

From the hill-top to the plain, 
See and hear we signs and warnings 

Emblematic of thy reign. 

Shortened days are now upon us. 
Hours of sunlight soon go past. 

Night's dark shades encroach on mornings 
Ushered in with skies o'ercast; 

In the grove the leaves are huddling 
Underneath the gaunt brown boughs, 

And the cattle turn undriven 

From the pastures home to house. 

On the hill the hunter's rifle 

Cracks its sharp, stacatto notes. 
Where, awhile aback, gay music 

Rippled from the song-birds' throats; 
In the fields the oat and wheaten 

Stubbles stand in spirey rows. 
And the hard'ning ground is dotted 

O'er with flocks of cawing crows. 

E'en the swallows are departing — 
Scarce a dipping wing remains; 

And of all its crowd of flowers 
Not e'en one the slope retains; 

All the land is undergoing 

Gloomy changes day by day, 

Saddening in all their phases. 
Harbingers of swift decay. 



254 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

A BIRD'S REPLY. 

Little bird with lightsome wing, 

Swinging on the linden spray, 
Pretty, fluttering, timid thing, 

Trilling out thy happy lay, 
Canst thou teach me with thy voice, 

Why^ this sunny summer morn, 
Thou dost warble and rejoice 

While I feel so sad and lorn? 

Gentle maiden, I can well 

Give thee answer why I'm glad. 
Though I may not, cannot tell. 

Why thou feelest lorn and sad; 
Sit thee down beneath this tree. 

In the sunny glimmer bask; 
Listen and my song to thee 

Will explain what thou dost ask. 

Look around, see everywhere 

Flowers and foliage in bloom. 
Filling all the ambient air 

With delicious, sweet perfume; 
See the meadows clothed in green, 

See the bright cerulean sky, 
See the brooklet's shimmering sheen. 

Hear its trickling lullaby. 

See the fields of ripening wheat 

Waving in the wooing breeze; 
See, where shine and shadow meet. 

Fruit thick hanging on the trees; 
Hear the farmer's jocund voice 

Sounding o'er the teeming soil; 
Hear the laborers rejoice, 

Bending to their healthful toil. 

See the smile dear nature wears 

Wheresoe'er we turn our eyes; 
Yonder glebe, bespread with tares, 

Nurtures buds of beauteous dyes; 
Springing all around thy feet^ 

Smiling in the roadside green. 
Basking in the light and heat, 

Everywhere their beauty's seen. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 255 

On the trees and in the fields 

Food in plenteousness is found. 
And the running brooklet yields 

Limpid drink the summer round. 
Every thing I hear and see 

From this swinging linden spray, 
Woos a strain of praise from me 

On this glorious summer day. 



CASTE. 



Around and o'er my window vines of ivy creep, 
With tendrils reaching upward to the roof. 
As if, like humankind, they'd keep aloof 
From kindred leaves which humble stations keep ; 

They are so strong and flush that birds of common kind 
Seek shelter 'mid the leaves, build fragile nests ; 
If other species come, unbidden guests, 

A chattering, angry flock they're sure to find. 

On a laburnum bough of yellow pendent blooms, 

A lonely blithe canary, cage-bars free, 
Trilled joyfully his song of liberty. 

Which filled the dwelling's open windowed rooms; 
As from a catapult, through ivied moat, 
A bolt of sparrows sped for the lone bird 
With angry chirpings — nevermore was heard 

The sweet roulade pour from his throbbing throat ! 



THE GROVE IN SPRING. 

Out of the perfumed mouth 
Of the voluptuous South, 
Breathes the soft, balmy breeze. 

Fitful and sweet. 
Waking the tender leaves 
Sleeping beneath the eaves. 
Where in their nests of ease. 

Mating birds meet. 



256 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

'Mid willows' drooping green, 
Which o'er the runnel lean. 
Bluebirds are twittering 

Song to the day; 
High on an oaken bough. 
Lush in its leaf robe now, 
Catbirds are flittering 

Blackbirds are gay. 

Now 'tis the plaintive tone 
Of the wild dove alone 
Perched on a swampy bush 

Dank and uncheery ; 
Plump robins, too, are here. 
Lifting their voices clear. 
With the brown woodland thrush 

And the shy veery. 

Say, little mud-stained man. 
Come, tell me, if you can. 
Which birds you like the best, 

Now whirring by? 
"I likes er bob-um-link, 
Ma's parrot, too, I fink. 
Hens, roosters an' er rest — 

In chicken pie." 

«• 

THE GARDEN. 

Through spring and early summer time 

The garden thrived by loving care, 
The plants that bloom and vines that climb 

Had each, in turn, their proper share; 
And all, in season, flowered and throve 

And filled the household with delight, 
As if for care they gave back love 

And perfumed joy, from dawn tO' night. 

And so, I thought, 'tis oft in life; 

If we would for our neighbor spare 
A tender word when sorrow's rife, 

A little aid to lessen care, 
Perhaps the parable might be 

Repeated, which the flowers taught; 
For, hearts, like plants in nursery. 

By love, to love may oft be brought. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 257 
THE CALL OF THE WOODS. 

We planted seeds of various kinds in soil 

Digged deep, raked fine, with not o'erwilling toil 

'Neath early morning sun ; then off we went 

For holida}'-, where tree and grassy scent 

Ozonified the air. No trail was found 

Of aught but creatures on their prowling ground, 

Which oft-times nosed a-near our flap-doored tent, 

When the cicada were most eloquent. 

The call of duty came, and back to work ^ 

From verdant arabesques to scenes that irk. 

And lo ! the seeded ground we left so bare, 

A wealth of fragrancies distilled in air; 

Though weed entangled, the bright blooms held high 

Their beauteous faces, as if they'd outvie 

The strath's allurement to its wild-wood bowers. 

That woo'd our fancy in vacation hours. 



THE WOOD THRUSH. 

O, lone thrush on the bare oak bough, 

Enchanting with that voice of thine 
The tender leaflets, waking now 

From Winter sleep, by Spring's design; 
Through freezing weather here thou stayed. 

While others went we know not where; 
Thy snuggery on south-barn made, 

Caught all the sunshine beaming there. 

And now that vernal days are here, 

Thy voice, long dumb, awakes the grove ; 
Full soon thy mates will reappear 

And join thee in rondeaus of love; 
Full soon thou'lt go in maid-bird quest. 

For whom thy sweetest strains will be, 
Who'll help thee weave another nest 

In which to raise a family. 

Sweet bird! that warblest when the sky. 

As now, is overcast with rain; 
How joyful in the bye and bye, 

When warm days come, will be thy strain; 



2S8 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



When fields and gardens are abloom, 

When blossoms fade and fruits abound, 

When lavish Nature sprays perfume, 

And luscious insects swarm the ground. 

Thou mak'st the thankless heart ashamed 

By thy content, for, dark or bright, 
Thy cheeriness is never tamed, 

What e'er betide thee seemeth right; 
Thou thy Creator's goodness praise 

From morn to eve in thy own way, 
While we allow the passing days 

To wane with naught of thanks to say. 



-^- 



LITTLE BROWN SPARROWS. 

Little brown chatterers, all the day long 

Since morning awoke, you've been trying a song, 

And nothing but chirpings came out of your throats. 

The gate's squeaking hinge more than equals your notes ; 

Where, where did you come from, you garrulous throng? 

When I was a child here you did not belong, 

And since you arrived ev'ry beauty that sings 

You've driven away from the grounds, you cross things ! 

What you are good for's to spoil pleasant dreams, 
When Sol's round and flaming face o'er the hill beams ; 
Your babbling is nap-killing, tempts one to swear, 
Which makes the old Nick in us winner for fair; 
You soil the washed dimity, spread out to bleach. 
And fluster the maid till she's ready to screech ; 
And unlike the songsters, one now seldom sees, 
You come in battalions, pre-empting the trees. 

You strut on the window-sill, though I am here ! 
O brown, fluffy balls, have you never a fear? 
Pert, beady-eyed saucys you'd better away 
And bring back your harems and come in and stay; 
Fm anxious to learn what you'll do when the snow 
And sleet load the branches, and tearing winds blow; 
And why you don't go where the wiser birds fly, 
Where trees are in leaf and there's warmth in the sky. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 259 

I know you are hardy and thrive in the cold, 
But how you're so cheery in it I'd be told ; 
I know that not one of you ever shall fall 
Without the loved care of the Father of all; 
I know that He mentioned your trade value, too. 
In Palestine's ways, as a farthing for two ; 
And I'd be o'er pleased treble money to pay 
If each of your kind would upwing and away. 



AUGURIES OF SPRING. 

But yesternoon a white fleece spread 

And Hghtly wrapped each budding thing, 
To-day the warmth from overhead 

Reveals the pioneers of spring; 
The dainty snowdrops light the green, 

The saffron crocuses arise 
With squill points peeping up between, 

Bright harbingers of bluer skies. 

The trefoil's upcurled leaves unclose — 

Sure sign that moisture shall be brief- 
Along the hedge the wind flower shows 

Its slender stem and red-stained leaf ; 
The dandelion sprouts display 

Incipient growth for coming noons, 
When winds will lift their spherics gray 

And waft them off like toy balloons. 

Along the rugged road and lea 

A smile flits over Nature's face. 
As from her womb's fecundity 

A myriad offsprings come apace; 
The willow withies burst their hoods, 

The chestnuts ope their sturdy sheaths. 
The alders in the marshy woods 

Brown catkins hang o'er pond-spawn wreaths. 

Plump-breasted robins cheerily 

Pipe out their welcome^ olden strain. 
Which wakes a three-note chicadee 

And meadow lark in prompt refrain ; 
O'er ev'ry rood, where life abounds. 

The sun-kissed soils their due kinds bring. 
While over all is heard the sounds 

Of ancient harmonies of Spring. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 263 

PRESIDENT McKINLEY. 

"The surgeons attending the wounded President announce that he 
has a high fever and that he imagines himgelf amid old scenes. In 
lucid intervals he speaks of being tired and very weary." — September 
15, 1901. 

"I am tired and very weary" 

Were the words he feebly said, 

As he lay all weak and helpless 

As an infant on his bed, 
While his lips were parched with fever 

And his body racked with pain, 
Till the tide of life within him 

Seemed too low to rise again. 

"I am tired and very weary," 

Oh, the pathos of the plaint, 
Coming from a strong man stricken, 

Words cannot but fail to paint ! 
Like a lion, weak and helpless. 

Struggling from a serpent's sting, 
Or a pigmy-vanquished giant. 

Lies the one of whom I sing. 

"I am tired and very weary" 

And an earth-wide surge of grief. 
Like a plaintive fugue in minor, 

Rises for the stricken Chief, 
Till the millions hear the echo 

Of the universal strain. 
And pray Christ, the Healer's pity, 

That he walk in strength again. 

*T am tired and very weary" 

Yes, poor heart! the plaint is told 
Everywhere by souls pain burdened, 

Now as in the days of old ; 
By the child that makes its pillow 

On a loving mother's breast, 
And the world and pain-worn mortals. 

Longing but for peace and rest. 

"I am tired and very weary," 

And ere loftg the fevered hours 
Waft him to the scenes of childhood, 
Where he romps mid weeds and flowers; 



264 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Where the days are ever brightest, 
And the nights most full of rest, 

And the life of careless freedom 
Seems the happiest and best. 

Then amid the toil and struggle 

For the bread most fairly won. 
Gaining health and strength in labor, 

Ere more favored had begun, 
Using hands and brains together, 

In the race to reach his aim. 
Mounting up and onward ever, 

To the pinnacle of fame. 

Now amid his much prized home scenes 

Walks he, as in days agone. 
With his wife and little children, 

Happy as the sun shone on ; 
Now amid the wars' confusion. 

Now with rulers of the land, 
Now a great Republic's chieftain. 

Stricken by a cursed hand ! 

"I am tired and very weary" 

Ah ! the pity of it all. 
Would to God a praying nation 

Could his passing strength recall ; 
Would its tears and supplications 

Could relieve the ceaseless pain. 
Heal the wounded flesh, and raise him 

From the fevered bed again. 



CONVALESCENT. 

Close bound to my chamber from day to day 
In gyves of weakness and nervous strain, 

I feel like a child that is kept from play. 
Who sees his mates through a window pane. 

My playground awaits me — it's fit for men. 
When close is the game, and power's the goal ; 

I long to be back in the whirl again, 
To strive for the prize with all my soul. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 265 

But when a poor body is shorn of strength 
The brain will wander and not keep still; 

The cogs work loose, and the mind at length 
Will straggle on at its own sweet will. 

Its own sweet will, till a yellow-plumed bird, 

Imprisoned long in a gilded cage, 
Sings joyfully loud, and its voice is heard 

By ears untuned for a seeming age. 

And twined in the trill of its swelling throat, 
That from the trellis so plainly comes, 

I pick the old sounds pf the woodbird's note, 
The mill wheel's babble, the bees' soft hums. 

The robin's clear whistle comes out of the fir 
That shades the plank of the gate-side seat; 

The bobolink's singing "colick, colur, 
Tackle me, tackle me, kiss me sweet." 

And that's what I did in the briar lot, 
When berries were sweet, and so was she ; 

But, my ! what a thwack of her pail I got, 

From that little spit-fire, of seven and three. 

I gaze on the blue of the distant hills 
Through misty haze of the early day; 

I smell the sweet breath which the morn distils 
From juicy grasses and new mown hay. 

It comes back again with its lusty shout. 
Its buoyant spirits, its careless ways ; 

O barefooted time, when I loafed about 
Through endless chores of my sprouting days ! 

It's little I dreamed e'en a week ago, 
I'd care again for this good old world; 

But now that the tide is returning slow 
I'd steer my shallop, with sails unfurled, 

To where the red clover is nodding deep. 

And daisies hide the bobolink's nest ; 
Where in the warm breezes I'd find the sleep 

I've wished and prayed for through long unrest. 



266 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

THE OPTIMIST. 

A pleasant, cheerful soul is he 

As one may ever chance to meet. 
Whom children run to gleefully, 

As to a feast of something sweet; 
If black the clouds, or torrents pour, 

If money's scarce and hard to borrow. 
If folks recite their ill luck o'er. 

He builds their hopes on some to-morrow. 

He loves the world, both high and low, 

And says it is the best one ever, 
The winter's great, he'd have you know, 

And summer's nature's best endeavor; 
He preaches brotherhood of man 

And proves his faith by actions duly. 
In helping those whom others ban — 

A rara avis he is, truly. 



^ 



A FLOWER GIRL'S SONG. 

Flowers red, flowers white, 

Flowers pink and blue. 
Flowers fair to please the sight, 

Of ev'ry shade and hue; 
I gathered them at early dawn, 

When sparkling with the dew. 
And tripped across the hill and lawn 

To offer them to you. 

Lady sweet, lady fair, 

Buy my roses red. 
Plant them in your glossy hair 

Before their odor's fled; 
Buy my tender azure bell. 

Or fragrant mignonette, 
My bleeding-heart I fain would sell 

Before the daylight's set. 

Gentlemen, ladies fair. 

As you pass along, 
If a trifle you will spare 

'Twill pay me for my song; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 267 



If my song you will not hear, 
Please buy my pretty flowers. 

They glisten with the dewy tear 
Of dells and hidden bowers. 

Buy my flowers, come and buy, 

Little boys and girls 
With rosy cheek and sparkling eye 

And pretty dancing curls; 
Buy my flowers, come and buy 

All my fragrant store. 
And on the morrow I will hie 

Across the fields with more. 



■^- 



AT MY WINDOW. 

At evening hour I often sit 

Alone, here in my little room, 
And see beneath the people flit 

Along the street, in semi-gloom. 

Dull sounds arise from tramping feet, 
And children's voices, loud and clear, 

Come floating upward from the street 
As if they were beside me here. 

Across the way the lamps throw out 
Their lights from under tinted globes. 

And little children play about 
The cosy room, in scanty robes. 

A sweet-toned organ, down the street, 
Attracts them by its lively tune,^ 

And round and round the floor their feet 
Keep time to the gay rigadoon. 

"Ah, che la morte," trills the plaint 

That brings me back the love-lorn story 

Italia's maidj now fierce, now faint. 
And bold, imprisoned Trovatore. 

I hear again the wondrous "Do" 
Ring out beyond the crowded halls; 

The wild applause above, below, 

The white-gloved clapping in the stalls. 



268 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

"Sweet Annie Laurie's" now the song, 
Old Scotia's and the wide world's air. 
Which makes the loving heart grow strong, 
For such a maid tO' do and dare. 

I hear the shepherd on the plain, 

The sailor laddie on the sea. 
The soldier boys lilt the refrain, 
"For her I'd lay me doon an' dee." 

"Suwannee River's" plaintive sound 

Arises on the sultry night; 
My soul in its sweet thrall is bound 

As if in bonds of past delight; 

Be where he will, old folks at home, 
His spirit's yours, where'er he stray, 

Who makes such strains beneath this dome, 
Must constant be, though far away. 

Now, "Home, Sweet Home" fills ev'ry nook 
And crevice of my vanished days; 

I see the home that I forsook 

For shallow things, in richer ways. 

There is no place like home, I sing, 
As down the street the organ nears — 

I little thought such sounds could bring 
To tempered eyes like mine these tears ! 

"Lead, Kindly Light." Now faintly comes 
From some cross-street the hymnal tune, 
Half drowned by bang of passing drums 
And blaring horn and deep bassoon. 

And now the organ-grinder's gone. 
The silence deepens in the street; 
"Lead Thou me on, lead Thou me on" 
Is all my heart and Hps repeat. 

The lamps are out across the way, 
The little ones are in their beds; 
May restful sleep be theirs, I pray. 
And angels guard their flaxen heads ! 

An engine clangs and sparks fly out 

The funnel, as the teams strain by; 
"A fire! a fire!" comes up the shout, 
Good-night to peaceful sleep, say I. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 269 

AN EDITOR'S DREAM. 

An Editor sat in his easy chair. 

The easiest chair that his money could buy — 
For, writers, whenever they've money to spare, 
Quite seldom or never their wishes deny — 
So backward he lay, 
One very warm day. 
And quietly puffed his old meerschaum away. 

And watching the smoke curling over his head, 

He pondered on subjects with cash for their base, 
Till both of his eyelids grew heavy as lead 
And sleep settled down on his jolly fat face. 
Then peacefully there 
He snoozed in the chair, 
The happiest ed' to be found anywhere. 

For, sleeping he dreamed, and dreaming forgot 

The troubles a newspaper brings to its chief ; 
Though pleasant the life, it is sometimes his lot 
To suffer a column of ills in a brief. 
But, sleeping in peace, 
He had a release 
From trouble which seemed to be on the increase. 

Far into the realms of peace he was borne, 

Where beauty supernal on ev'ry side shone, 
Where raiment of primitive habit was worn, 
And business something that never was known; 
So, happy and free 
As mortal could be. 
This overworked editor sang merrily. 

His songs, so delightfully tender and sweet, 

Related to things of this old earth, the while, 

Which brought many beautiful maids to his feet, 

Impatient to learn the last caper in style 

For dresses and hats 

And everything that's 

Of int'rest to ladies, from bedspreads to mats. 

They questioned him closely and questioned him oft. 

Those lovely, inquisitive people he saw. 
Till parched and aweary and flabby and soft. 
His tongue ceased to wag in his sensitive jaw, 
So, mutely, he signed 
A means he would find 
To answer each restless, inquisitive mind. 



270 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



Straightway he arose to depart from their sight, 

To seek on the earth a new printing device; 
But never an inch would they let him alight 
On mundane estate, as they proved in a trice; 
But kept caged ed' 
And sent their kindred 
For press, type and so forth they needed, instead. 

Then printer, compositor, devil and all, 

In one single person the trade was combined; 
Alas and a-lack-a-day, there was a fall! 
A slight to a brilliant and powerful mind; 
But money was there ! 
With plenty to spare. 
To soothe and repay him for talent and care. 

The copy was ready and deftly set up. 

And round flew the cogs of the wonderful press; 
No time could he find for a bite or a sup, 
For thousands were printed each minute or less, 
And quickly were bought 
By people who sought 
And paid in advance, too, as everyone ought. 

Through daytime and night time, for months and for years, 

The papers were printed with never a stop. 

And cash was piled close in enormous high tiers, 

Like hayricks in row from a full season's crop. 

Stacked high in the air. 

Quadrillions were there. 

Of bright golden eagles, that needed no care ! 

And sweet were the thoughts of the editor, when 

He saw that his riches were daily increased; 
For he had a love of his poor fellow men 
And longed for the time he could aid e'en the least. 
By sharing his wealth. 
And doing by stealth 
Kindly acts for increasing their morals and health. 

But brain work is limited — so with our ed's. 
Who failed to imagine another new style 
For all the dear creatures' sweet bodies and heads, 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 271 

Bedecked by his genius for such a long while; 
So what could they do 
To find a style new, 
But grant him an absence of one week or two? 

With joy in his eyes and a quick beating heart 

The exile prepared for the home that he yearned, 
But found of his gold he could lift but a part, 
A very small part of the vast wealth he'd earned ; 
» So, puzzled, he dreamed 
The manner which seemed 
To answer his purpose, and have it redeemed. 

With swiftness he made from the old clothes of strength 

The beautiful creatures had long cast aside, 
A bottomless bag, of indefinite length, 

To reach to the earth, where securel}'- 'twas tied; 
Then saying good-by 
To those who were nigh, 
He slid through the cylinder straight from the sky. 

And thus through a million of miles to the earth. 

With speed of a lightning streak downward he shot, 
And landed unshattered upon his own hearth. 
With rivers of gold rolling after him hot; 
'Twere useless to flee. 
It poured rapidly, 
And covered him so that he scarcely could see. 

Up, up to his eyebrows, his forehead, his hair, 

The bright golden lucre had already reached, 
When, fearing to smother, with strength of despair, 
He pushed and he kicked at the pile while he screched, 
And then strained his best 
At the treasure that pressed — 
And slung through the window a cat from his chest. 

And that is the reason that he, once so fat. 

So pleasant to speak to, and fair to behold. 
Is surly and thin and despises a cat, 

And inwardly trembles at mention of gold; 
But blame him not for 
The change in him, nor 
His bitterest writings. Ah, poor Editor! 



2^2 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 
SELF SEEKERS. 

All have seen them, maybe know them, 

For they're almost everywhere. 
Those forever nimbus chasing, 

Which they are not fit to wear; 
Who would rather be puffed bull-frogs, 

And to scummy waters keep, 
Than be smaller, swift-finned beauties 

In the clear tides of the deep. 



■^■ 



THE WIND-JAMMER. 

He spouts in a convincing strain 

To those whose minds are fallow, 
Who wonder such a brilliant brain 

Can fit in head so shallow, 
Should one approach who'd gleamed a mite 

Of lore in school or college, 
His flippant tongue finds no delight 

Dispensing pseudo knowledge. 



-K- 



THE OLD ORGAN. 

"Too old and wheezy," is what they say, 
The people who listen to you to-day; 
They want the space that you occupy 
For one more pleasing to ear and eye. 

"Ah well; you're only a poor old thing, 
Just like myself, beyond bettering; 
Your pedals shake, low manual's weak, 
Your alt scales voice an uneven squeak. 

"Your bellows are creaky, cracked and stiff; 
Your breath blows out with a hissing whiff; 
Your stops work loose in each worn out vent- 
We're two of a feather, old instrument! 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 273 

"For four long decades and this last year 
Your pipes were faithful in service here; 
While of the voices your tones once led. 
How many are useless, how many fled 1 

''But now, old organ, the seed is sown 
To fill your place with a younger tone ; 
So let us both, as the day grows dim. 
Just say good-bye with a friendly hymn." 

Across the keyboard his fingers moved 
As one might fondle a thing well loved; 
His feet scarce pressed on the sub-toned base 
Ere pleasure fighted his wrinkled face. 

Soft through the silence of aisles and nave 
There flowed a witching, harmonious wave. 
Like tide-waked ripples o'er pebbly shoals, 
Or tender strains of poetic souls. 

Or like a zephyr, 'neath cloud-swept moon — 
Which clasps the breast of a clear lagoon, 
When outward rushing to meet the sea — 
That bears the soul of bird melody. 

As changes mingle in dreamy states. 
So, softly gliding, he modulates 
From key to key, as his theme he limns 
In chords, preluding familiar hymns. 

And long he lingers o'er favorite strains. 
While gray eve curtains the stained-glass panes, 
And murky shadows in troops descend 
Till organ, player and darkness blend. 



-•Jf- 



SLEEP. 

Assuager of mind's wrackful care 

That worries through diurnal hours, 
Thy noiseless wings our spirits bear 

Beyond the realm of trouble's powers, 
And there renews the wasted strength 

Of body, energy and brain. 
Until their weariness, at length. 

Is armored for the fray again. 



274 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

The shrill night wind is wild with life, 

To which the tree-tops salaam low; 
The woofy clouds, with vigor rife, 

Their turmoil to the calm moon show; 
So, Morpheus, welcome! ere we wake 

May peace our storm-tossed minds embrace, 
And may the stress to-morrows' make 

Be such as leave no poignant trace. 



IN THE SPRINGTIME OF LIFE. 

He— If you'd dare play "change sex" with me 
What jolly company we'd be. 

She — Of course I dare! Now that I'm you 

And you're the maid, what's next to do? 

He — I'll just move closer to you — so. 
And act the girl as best I know. 

She — You'd have me think that Margie Piatt 
Would snuggle up to you like that? 

He — Remember that I've changed my sex, 

A brand new maid no man would vex. 

5/ze— Well, what about Marg Piatt, I say? 
Does she play brazen in that way? 

He — Er — no, that is — O, no, I vow. 

But only when we've changed, as now. 

She — If that is all, go on and be 
The lady of the company. 

He — And then I'd hug her, just like this: 

And purse my mouth and dare her kiss. 

She — And did that gnat,, brat, sprat and rat 
Dare buss you so, the purring cat ! 

He — 'Twas not for fair, you know ; that's true ; 
I'll cross my heart, I thought 'twas you. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 275 

She — Well, stop your bragging, wiggling lies, 
This swapping sexes I despise. 

He — All right; the ball game's called for three, 
Coax ma to let you come with me. 

She — But mind, if she is at the game. 

You play to me, or mud's your name. 

He — Your dotted dress and old-gold sash 
And red flowered hat will cut a dash. 

She — At half-past two, you pawing bear, 
Call in for me; I'll bet you'll stare; 
And if I don't make one chit cry 
With spite, I'll miss my guess ; by-bye ! 



KATZENJAMMER. 

Ho, grumpy! why depressed 
In rising from your rest? 

Because the sky's not blue? 
Of course its black and low, 
And mean, to treat one so. 

Particularly you. 

Last night you beamed with joy, 
To-day all things annoy 

And naught but scowlings shed ; 
Get square with the old sun ; 
Just smile and it is done. 

Or else go douse your head ! 



SERVILITY. 

Who strives to win another's praise 
By servile mein and fawning ways. 
Would foul the hands that now they'd lick 
Should Gain decide 'twere politic. 



276 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

WISHES. 

A hammock hangs from apple boughs, 

With blossoms laden, pink and white, 
And in its fold a maiden lies, 

On whom the dropping blooms alight; 
"O, happy blossoms," sings a heart, 

A fond, faint heart, not far away, 
"Could I, like thee, but be as near, 

I'd mark this hour my happiest day." 

A butterfly stops in its flight 

And rests upon the sweet maid's head ; 
'*0, would I were that butterfly," 

The fond, faint-hearted lover said ; 
"1 then would fan the sultry air 

With silken wings, to cool her brow. 
And hover o'er her precious lips, 

To sip the breath she's wasting now." 

A gentle zephyr, blowing low, 

Caught up a tress of her thick hair. 
And shook it free from binding pins 
And spread it o'er her face so fair; 
"O, would I were that gentle wind" 

The foolish lover wished once more, 
"Incense from all sweet flowers I'd bring 
And bathe my charmer o'er and o'er." 

A buzzing, searching little fly 

Alighted on her dainty chin, 
And finding naught but sweetness there, 

His penetrating bill thrust in ; 
"O, would I were that buzzing thing. 

That cheeky, savage, vampire fly; 
Methinks I ne'er would quit the feast 

Until I'd drained the darling dry." 



"Well, here I've lain for quite an age, 

In my most picturesque posish ; 
My poor back-bone's all out of joint. 

And yet I've hooked me nary fish; 
What can the timid idiot mean? 

I've seen him on that old settee 
A-watching for the last good hour. 

As though he'd like to speak to me. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 2^^ 

"I'm certain that my chin's a mount, 

Since that blamed skeeter stung so deep, 
And yet I dare not budge an inch, 

For fear he'll think I'm playing sleep ; 
O, how my corns and bunions ache ! 

I really know not what to do ; • 

Of course my size is number four, 

But feet look handsome in a two ' 

"I've heard it said he's well to do, 

And likes a figure neat and trim ; 
Well, I have had my bust filled out, 

And, goodness knows, my waist is slim ! 
But is the noddy worth the pains 

I take, to make his capture sure? 
Oh ! if I don't unhook this waist 

I'll faint before I hook my wooer. 

"I dearly wish he'd go away; 

I want to wake from feigned repose, 
And loose my shoes, and tint my cheeks 

With lily white and cream-de-rose ; 
I'll catch him with my cold reserve. 

And style, too, at the hop to-night; 
And when I've hooked him fast and sure, 

Won't all the girls grow green with spite !" 



TEDDY. 

Here's a rhyme or two to Teddy, 
For a jolly dog is he. 
Who is always over-ready 

For a lark; 
He is not so much the fashion 
As are others that I see, 
But he's sure and safe to cash on, 

Dawn or dark. 

His hair trousers have no creases, 
But his coat has, down the back. 
And it's color never ceases 

To be gray; 
It's so very, very shaggy, 
That he never learnt the knack 
Of remaking it less raggy 

Or more gay. 



278 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

His shock head's immune to combing, 
For his touselled locks are thick, 
They are ever downward roaming 

To his eyes, 
Which beam out with pup-Hke gladness 
» If I send him for my stick, 

When I'd walk off laze or sadness, 
And arise. 

He's a true-blue nature lover, 
He's a born diplomatist, 
Finds it easy to discover 

Things that hide ; 
When he cuts through weeds and bushes 
In the sunshine or the mist, 
He just snaps his prey and rushes 

To my side. 

If the dream called transmigration 
Could accord with simple sense. 
One might think some sage of station 

Died somehow 
In the tomb of Pythagoras, 
And in dog form wandered thence, 
And it's he is yapping for us 

Here and now. 

He's a waggish, cunning fellow 
To go out with for a walk, 
He has not a streak of yellow 

To despise ; 
He keeps silence when you need it, 
At a flip his tail will talk, 
If you shouldn't care to heed it, 

See his eyes ! 

There the brain work is apparent, 
There the cells of thinking show — 
Much of dog lore, Ted, I daren't 

Say you lack; 
You're a near approach to human. 
And I love you, that you know, 
For your way to win and woo man 

Beats the pack ! 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 279 



WISDOM. 

As light snow drifting o'er a placid lake 
Is silently absorbed when it descends, 

So Wisdom's varied infall, flake by flake, 

Drops on the mind's receptive trait and blends. 



A BLESSING. 



I've passed along the world's highways 

For many years, in ev'ry season; 
I've viewed their scenes by nights and days 

With thoughtless folk and those of reason; 
I've bent my knees in holy aisles 

When benediction's incense floated. 
Where postulants wore fashion's styles, 

And tatters earth's most poor denoted. 

I've seen the bowed and priestly head 

Above a praying congregation ; 
I've heard the church's blessing said 

For souls of ev'ry creed and nation; 
With saint and sinner I have knelt, 

With minds at peace, and in distress, too, 
But never has my spirit felt 

A benison like one "God bless you." 

And yet it came from lowly lips. 

With signs that gnawing trouble gave her. 
Who bore upon her finger-tips 

The needle prods of honest labor. 
"Five dollars each," she mildly said, 

When asked the price she's been receiving 
For baby cloaks, with silken thread 

Embroidered, like a spider's weaving. 

O, innocent and beauteous dears. 

Most lovable of earthly treasures! 
Thy 'broidered wraps were wrought in tears 

Enough to quench a heathen's pleasures! 
You cannot know that ev'ry thread, 

And bird and flower, from stem to petal, 
Scarce brought the worker daily bread 

And pinch of tea to stain the kettle. 



28o BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

O, grasping, hard and cruel trade, 

O, lights of starving competition; 
What matters it, if ye're well paid, 

That toilers die of inanition! 
What matters it if they should drop, 

From overtasking mind and muscle? 
Your mill for grinding lives can't stop, 

Beneath its cogs too many tussle! 

'Twas but a kindly, simple act, 

In time of trouble most distressing; 
Such as a stranger'd do, in fact, 

That prompted such a well-prized blessing, 
And this is why I hold it dear, 

Above most prayers to which I've listened, 
Because it flowed from heart sincere, 

And I've been bless'd as was petitioned. 



THE SCOFFER. 

"Where, and what is Heaven," the scoffer asked; 

"No man hath entered it and then returned, 
No disembodied spirit ever basked 

Within its portals, or near it sojourned 
And came again to earth with living tongue 

To tell of the transcendent beauty there, 
Or if it be a sphere from some orb hung. 

Or if the crowns are gold which angels wear." 

We hear of harps there, too; are they of gold? 

What of the vestures; are they kept in style? 
Who makes the goods; are they on long-time sold? 

Good friend, you're honest, but you make me smile! 
I know 'tis right to be good, honest, just. 

To be considerate, above-board, fair; 
But swallow that! excuse me, 'deed you must, 

No harps of gold or crown for me up there. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 281 

AT THE DOOR. 

The moon shone bright one splendid night, 

'Twas ten o'clock or more. 
When passers-by could two descry 

Conversing at the door; 
She bade him go, but he said "no, 

I've something more to say, 
I will not move an inch, my love, 

I will not go away." 

For many a week he'd tried to speak 

The words he wished to utter. 
Time and again he'd tried in vain — 

His lips would only mutter ; 
And through the day he oft would say, 

"Faint heart ne'er won fair lady," 
I'll speak my mind — she's very kind, 

And loves me, too, it may be." 

So, on that night, serene and bright. 

While standing at the door, 
He did not fail to tell the tale 

He'd tried to tell before; 
The tale being told, he then grew bold, 

And snatched a lover's pay, 
And vowed the bliss of that first kiss, 

Could never pass away. 

The moon gazed down on the silent town 

And brightened the lonely street. 
And around the block could be heard the knock 

Of the watchman on his beat; 
And the midnight chime, like a musical rhyme, 

Pealed out on the still, calm air. 
From its lofty tower, proclaiming the hour 

For the heart to be free from care. 

Time passed away — they'd much to say. 

And yet 'twas time to go. 
He never balked, but talked and talked 

The things that lovers know; 
And now they own, though years have flown, 

They love to prattle o'er 
The blest delight of that moonlight night, 

While standing at the door. .„ 



282 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

SUNSHINE OF THE HEART. 

Worth many things which we possess 

As life jogs on its way. 
When Trouble brings its tjitterness 

In any giiise it may, 
Is sunshine of the heart and mind, 

That shares the ills we must. 
And aids us by its beams to find 

The bright spots, not the rust. 

Dear knows, each mind has its own share 

Of trials small and great, 
Which, yea or nay, it has to bear 

However great the weight ; 
But thanks be ours for the blest gift 

That eases many a smart, 
And helps us through life's deepest drift 

With sunshine of the heart. 



^ 



MY CHUM. 

He has a sunny nature, a plethora of health, 

A trouble-shooing spirit, from littlenesses free, 
A lover of all creatures, working good, quite oft by 
stealth — 
Would that such blest endowment were possessed by you 
and me. 



-^- 



THE MENDICANT. 

Out in the cold and the fast falling sleet, 
Begging of passers for something to eat; 
Wet-footed, thinly clad, blue with the cold. 
Wrinkled and wretched and tottering old. 

No one to care for him, no one to heed. 
No one to seemingly help his dire need ; 
Shaking and feeble with ill health and age. 
Seeking the wherewith his woes to assuage. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 283 

What does it matter the life he has led? 
That he's a derelict, hoary of head? 
What if his rum-breath the icy air sours? 
What if his temptings and weakness were ours? 

Once, it may be, he had hopes that were bright, 
Childhood and young life perhaps were lived right; 
Somebody loved him, though strange it may seem. 
Built up a place for him in fortune's scheme. 

Tempted and fallen? Why then, so have we, 
Often and often, though in less degree; 
If we seem better than that bunch of rags, 
Stamping his half frozen feet on the flags, 

Less it may be from our merits than care 
Lavished upon us, of which he'd no share; 
Anyhow, be the poor wretch what he may. 
Rest he will share with the best some near day. 



INSOMNIA. 



The hours go by and yet I lie 

With sleepless eye upon my bed; 
I try in vain to ease the pain 

Of thoughtful strain within my head. 

I count with care, I think a prayer. 
The gloom I stare with all my power; 

The clock's loud tick I number quick, 
Up to the click ere strikes the hour. 

From side to chest I turn for rest, 

And off in quest of various places 
My thoughts rush on, till one by one, 

I gaze upon old scenes and faces. 

Now beams a face that's sweet to trace. 
Now comes apace the scenes of childhood; 

Now fancy wings around the things 

That young life brings from field and wildwood. 



284 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Now comes in line wrong deeds of mine. 
Now some design for better living; 

Now a good deed springs up with speed, 
Like buried seed, it's fruitage giving. 

O'er land and main thought flies again. 
Through wind and rain and lightning flashes — 

Ah ! sweet caress of drowsiness. 

Press, closer press, my weary lashes. 



DRIVING HOME. 

Along the road, with lightsome load. 

When morning glowed on hill and heather, 
We took our way, in spirits gay, 

My dappled gray and I together ; 
By slope and ledge and blooming hedge. 

By bleating sheep and kine a-lowing, 
By elms in rank, and burdock bank. 

And cresses dank in ponds a-growing. 

With check and rein slacked free from strain. 

With springy seat, and axles greasy. 
With tightened trace, and steady pace. 

By ivy place we jogged on, easy; 
By heathy ridge and toll-gate bridge. 

By meadow flats, all ripely smelling. 
My little mare, with footing ware. 

Stepped out to where my loved were dwelling. 

As over ground the wheels went round. 

My waistcoat pipe I filled and lit it, 
Then backward lay and puffed away 

Till ashes gray no smoke emitted ; 
By fingers skilled again 'twas filled. 

The flint resparked, the weed rekindled. 
Then smoking free and drowsily. 

In revery m^^ senses dwindled. 

In settee rest within the nest 

My tidy dame trims out so neatly, 
I sat at ease while both my knees 

My prattling bees filled up completely; 
And by my side the comely bride 

I led away from loved consortion, 
To share and bear my care and fare, 

If full or spare might be my fortune. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 285 

And thus I mused, with thoughts diffused, 

And naught of sense to justify me: 
If fate would mend my poor stipend, 

Or, to dispend, with wealth supply me; 
I'd make my wife content for life, 

I'd squander to her inclination, 
I'd build her halls of marble walls; 

Nor care nor thralls should touch her station. 

I'd raise my brood on choicest food, 

I'd clothe them in the finest raiment; 
Their brains I'd drill and lore instill 

By college skill, for liberal payment; 
A steed for each, and man to teach 

The art of clearing dykes and ditches 
Like riders true, who'd ne'er eschew; 

Thus would I do if I had riches. 

I'd feed the poor who'd seek my door, 

Nor ask their creed nor count their number, 
Good bread of wheat with wholesome meat 

I'd give to eat, e'en to encumber ; 
To help, I'd seek the old and weak 

The orphan, too, and widowed matron ; 
In verity, I'd prove to be 

To poverty a bounteous patron. 

To willing hands who'd till my lands, 

To ev'ry grade of occupation, 
I'd try the sway of goodly pay 

For work by day of fair duration; 
No idle drones should loll their bones 

Nor cast their part upon a neighbor. 
But all, to thrive, should toil and strive 

To build their hive by honest labor. 

To mental worth of lowly birth. 

Intent to mount the hills of science, 
My purse I'd ope and give them hope 

To reach their scope with firm reliance; 
All plans, in fine, that would combine 

The best for human exaltation. 
Should have my aid, by money paid 

To have them laid on firm foundation. 



286 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

From vacant air, in accents rare, 

A voice most sweet and sympathetic, 
As if 'twere near, fell on my ear^ 

With words of cheer, though hypothetic; 
"If thou'lt be true," it said, ''and do 

Most faithfully whate'er commanded. 
Thou wilt behold unstinted gold, 

To have and hold whene'er demanded. 

"Thou wilt have land at thy command, 

And needful things to it pertaining, 
If thou'lt resign to me and mine 

A child of thine, without complaining; 
Speak! wilt exchange for lawn and grange. 

For fine demenses of broadest measure, 
For power untold and manifold. 

And countless gold, thy first born treasure?" 

'Twixt love of gain and nature's pain 

At thought of such a payment for it. 
My heart grew sore into the core, 

A moment more I did abhor it; 
No, no, I cried, whate'er betide, 

I'll keep my pride, my precious first born, 
From me depart ! did I not thwart 

Thy tempting art, 'twould be life's worst morn. 

The voice again in language plain. 

Invoked attention while respeaking; 
"Dispel thy fear, to rule our sphere, 

Thy first born here we have been seeking; 
We'll give thee health combined with wealth, 

Our ruler absolute we'll make him. 
And when a year doth disappear, 

This signet clear present and take him." 

In mute surprise I saw arise 

From dim chaotic space, a mansion 
Of noble bound, and all around 

Spread cultured ground of great expansion; 
An oaken gate of massive weight 

Hung on a mammoth iron stanchion. 
All ribbed and barred and rivet star'd. 

The way debarred into the mansion. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 287 

Approaching near in curious fear, 

It widely swung half round, unsounding. 
And passing through, arose to view 

An avenue with flowers abounding; 
Extensive land on either hand 

Betokened care in cultivation, 
And fall and mere slaked thirst of deer. 

In herd a-near the habitation. 

No human face showed in the place, 

No human voice in hearing sounded; 
From terrace door through every floor 

The mansion o'er, silence abounded ; 
Like one in trance I trod the manse 

From marble hall to dome capacious ; 
Turn where I might, to left or right, 

From base to height were scenes palatious. 

While in the dome, a thought of home 

And loved ones, waiting my returning 
To them again, a-down the lane, 

Swept through my brain with fervid yearning; 
O, would, I thought, that I'd besought 

The unseen giver of this splendor. 
To send to me my family, 

Whom destiny leaves no defender. 



As echo to a loud halloo 

'Mid mountain fastnesses keeps flying 
The rocks around, long after sound 

Soars from the ground, and dies replying; 
So wish and thought of mine were caught 

And answered by the power that bound me. 
And soon there came my young and dame, 

With fond acclaim when they had found me. 

But lo ! how strange appeared the change 

From verge of want to wealth and power; 
From toil and care to station where 

Vile trouble dare not lag an hour; 
"Now here," I cried, with boastful pride, 

"Is gold to purchase fitting raiment, 
I'll ne'er deny, for all you buy, 

A full supply to meet defrayment." 



288 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

I hired good hands to till my lands 

And paid for labor done most fairly, 
Yet discontent, where'er I went 

Or 'mong them sent, showed late and early; 
The country round seemed to have found 

The place for begging expeditions. 
From parsons, lawyers, clerks, employers, 

And rough annoyers, flowed petitions. 

Relations, too, we never knew 

Nor heard of, sent congratulations, 
And others came who bore our name, 

Who sought to claim both purse and patience— 
What dear, kind friends affection sends 

To those on whom kind fortune scatters 
Her golden store, who ne'er before 

Could virtue score in penury's tatters ! — 

From manse and hall, by card and call. 

The gentry all respects ^presented, 
And fete and feast, from great and least. 

As they increased, our worth augmented; 
My portl}'^ dame her state became, 

Nor felt ashame to seek poor neighbors, 
And our true pearls, our hearty girls. 

Shunned fashion's whirls to help her labors. 

Our boys ! ah, me ! 'twas misery 

That one so free and full of promise 
As our first-born, should pine forlorn, 

Since the sad morn he vanished from us ; 
Wealth, power and ease, with all to please, 

Ah! what were these with him comparing? 
Hard toil and care, poor, scanty fare. 

Were naught to bear if with him sharing. 

'Twas there and then we vowed that when 

We found good men and leal to aid us. 
We'd search the land and ne'er disband 

'Till we'd his hand, as heaven made us ! 
Full hopefully upmounted me. 

To set him free we pondered how, and 
Our speed increased, but quickly ceased — 

I 'waked, hub deep, in salty sloughland. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 289 

CARE. 

Come, Care has bound us long enough 

In galHng gyves and fetters, 
Let's turn him now the shoulder gruff 

And prove ourselves his betters ; 
Too long we've languished in his sway, 

He's ruled beyond his measure, 
Let's spurn the jaundiced imp away 

And fill his place with pleasure. 

What matters it at what we toil, 

When end or when begin it, 
If we allow him to despoil 

Us of the pleasure in it? 
What better are we in the end 

By letting him oppress us? 
The more we to his mandate bend, 

The more he will distress us. 

What if our lot in life be poor? 

What if our bread be sparing? 
The fare we now can well endure, 

With Care'd be past the bearing; 
What if the future looks more black 

Than either past or present. 
Will hoisting him upon our back 

The prospect make more pleasant? 

We're balanced now in equipoise 

'Twixt joy and melancholy, 
So let us hie from Care's decoys. 

To Pleasure bright and jolly; 
We'll neither sigh, nor groan, nor weep, 

Henceforth we will despise him, 
No more companionship we'll keep, 

Nor deign to recognize him. 

^ 



VACATION. 

"Shall you pass your vacation this summer 

At the gabled house down by the bend, 
Or the bungalow up on the cliff by the shore?" 
Was the query I put to my friend. 



290 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

"No, I'll court the old city this season, 
Where the rest I may need I shall find, 
Where the mornings will woo me to hug my soft bed 
And convention be far from my mind. 

''Where I'll get just the food that will suit me, 
At the time that I'll wish for it, too, 
Where the question of duds will not enter my brain, 
Nor the trouble of knowing who's who. 

"If I sigh for a glimpse of the heather, 
I may straddle my wheel for a spin 
By the road-bounded fields or the lone lanes of green, 
Where the day-god will copper my skin. 

"If I pine for a sniff of old ocean, 
If I long for a pull at an oar. 
Or the grasp of a tiller, a dive in the brine, 
It is only a hark to the shore. 

"If my spirits for fun become restless 

When the night shades come galloping down, 
There are roof gardens wailing for patrons, you know, 
And there's comedy somewhere in town. 

"With a weed and a volume worth reading. 
Or an evening of poker or whist 
With a someone who's winged me, I fancy there's hope 
For a city-bound waif to exist." 



AN ISLE OF DELIGHT. 

There's an island unmapped on the charts of the ocean 
Where never an anchor of fair ship was dropped, 

Where the waters that lap it are always in motion, 
The flow of joy's seasons has never been stopped. 

It is laden with fragrance from myriads of flowers, 
Though Winter be near to the zone where 'tis set. 

And the birds carol gayly through days in its bowers, 
'Mid leaf-hidden fruitage, a raised hand may get. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 291 

There the sweet dove of peace its broad wings ever 
stretches, 

Contentment broods over the ravishing isle; 
Ev'ry moment that passes the mind deftly sketches, 

Imbibing the scene, coming days to beguile. 

There is naught to remember of trouble or sadness 
That one in this work-a-day world knows so well; 

With ev'ry pulsation elixirs of gladness 
Surge into the soul like a heavenly spell. 

It is there con amore has true definition, 

'Tis truth and affection, not falsehood and show, 

'Tis the subtle attraction of love's intuition, 
Exalted and pure as the Alpine peak's snow. 

All the world lying out of its favored meridian 
May seek long in vain for this paragon place ; 

Not a single explorer in all of earth's region 
Can show where it lies, nor its boundaries trace. 

It's full longitude spreads from earth's east to west ending, 
It's latitude reaches where'er sunlight beams ; 

But 'tis found between drowsy land's-end and sleep's blend- 
ing, 
This luring, ineffable Island of Dreams, 



-^- 



AH SIN. 

In this great cosmopolitan city of ours, ^ 

So renowned for its riches and size, 
May be found in the space of diurnal-lit hours, 

Folk from ev'ry land under the skies; 
But the strangest, most puzzHng of all to be seen. 

That is, puzzling and strangest to me. 
Is the yellow-hued, almond-eyed, quiet and keen 

Son of the tea land, the heathen Chinee. 

We all know of their land, from the teaching of schools, 
And we're versed in their ethics likewise, 

While their hist'ry to all who will study, but fools, 
May be gained by their brains, ears and eyes; 



292 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

But their language ! it's there that the puzzle comes in. 

For, though steeped in most Eastern land lore, 
That's an abstruse enigma to all but Ah Sin, 

The mild heathen referred to before. 

He's a knight of the iron and artist in suds, 

Just as trade or occasions demand. 
And as solemn in phiz, while he glosses the duds. 

As a Joss from his flowery land ; 
And I've thought, as I gazed on the raven black tail 

Hanging down from his queerly shaped head, 
If a thousand-year mummy could look half as stale, 

Were it ironing the shirts in his stead. 

Wong Chong Chung is the partner of serious Ah Sin, 

For 'tis printed in red on the glass, 
"Wong Chong Chung and Ah Sin," have a laundry within, 

Which is easily read as you pass ; 
And quite oft, when in mood philosophic, I stray 

To the shop of the busy Chinee, 
And endeavor to solve from what little they say, 

Many things quite perplexing to me. 

So a friendly regard from my visits hath sprung, 

And Confucius' sons have grown kind. 
For the serious Ah Sin and his partner Chong Chung, 

Have a wish to enlighten my mind ; 
And the first task they gave, as I lounged in the door, 

While their almond eyes seemed to dilate. 
Was like "Watellewantedamfoole," and more 

Which we find very hard to translate. 

And this leather-faced heathen, this guileless Ah Sin, 

This mild teacher of classic Chinee^ 
Has the queer Eastern habit when teaching, to grin. 

While conveying his knowledge to me ; 
But he knows that a "Melican" pupil is bright, 

And he changes his studies to suit, 
So the last lesson taught, when I lounged there last night, 

Had a sound like "Goelleanscoot." 



-Jf- 



LA DANSEUSE. 

The curtain uprolled, the stage-scene was set, 
The flesh-tighted chorus tripped in. 

All tra-la-la-la-ing ; at mid-wings they met. 
The orchestra aiding the din ; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 293 

A feather-weight sylph floated here, whirled there, 
While beams of lime-lights round her flowed, 

Enhancing her smile, pinky cheeks, yellow hair. 
And teeth, golden plugged a la mode. 

A dress-circle sitter, with saucer-like eyes, 

Entrancingly gazed at the sight, 
And said to his neighbor, "say, she's beauty's prize, 

Or I'm a poor critic, all right" ; 
Behind the drop, later, the premiere he saw 

Just after she'd filled her street clothes. 
And stared in dumb wonder, with down-dropping jaw, 

Then vented his feelings with "Ohs !" 



THE USURER. 

Fifteen, five and twenty — good ! 

Forty per cent, is fair, I own ; 
He'd charge as much, I'm certain he would. 

That is, if he had cash to loan ; 
Why does he come? Because he is forced; 

Serf to his passions of gambling and wine ; 
Discount at forty when doubly endorsed. 

Or he squanders no money of mine. 

Folio twelve, the widows' page; 

One back room on the attic floor. 
At ten a month — though merely a cage, 

Hereafter she'll have to pay more ; 
I know she'll whine to have me relent, 

And sickness and poverty's tale relate; 
That's nothing to me, while sixty per cent. 

I make from my real estate. 

Profit and Loss — Ah ! here's the rub ; 

Of late 'tis loss and little gain ; 
Ten thousand sunk when the blasted cub 

Lodged the shot in his addled brain; 
A doubly blind and blundering fool 

And idiot was I, to be so shammed; 
The stakes were high and I lost the pool — 

But he writhes in the lake of the damned ! 



294 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Expense account's too great, I see, 

Clerks' stipend first must have a tcss, 
And two must do the work of three, 

To reimburse me for my loss; 
To church, of course, I still must go, 

A wise man, when it pays, submits, 
A sanctimonious face I'll show, 

And howl and pray with hypocrites. 

And thus he turns from page to page, 

And cons the items one by one; 
His hair is scant and white with age, 

And weak the limbs he totters on; 
The dreams of stocks, bonds, rents and notes 

So crowd his brain in length and breadth, 
There's nothing else on which he dotes ; 

There's nothing he so fears as death. 
5f 

THE HILL. 

As down the grassy slope the girls 
And boys, in pleasant weather, 
Would slide, or roll in rapid whirls, 
Alone or all together; 
Oh ! that was fun indeed, 
With not a thought or heed 
Of the to-morrow's need 
For clothing or shoe leather. 

Then when the snow, with crusted top, 

Hid frozen grass all under. 

The merry crowd, with belly-whop 

On sleds, cut it asunder, 

As down and down they sped, 

Heels high and low of head. 

Or plunged in snowy bed 

By faulty steering blunder. 

The hill is gone, wide streets run through 

The place, where houses tower 

On either side; strange children strew 

The paths in daylight hour; 

Old friends, we now look on, 

Were playmates in days gone, 

The others vanished one by one 

From sight, from mem'ry's power. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 29S 



THE EXILE. 

Farewell, my own, my native land, 
Farewell to thee for ever, 
Farewell dear home of ev'ry tie 
Most dear unto my heart; 
Farewell, ye cherished scenes of youth 
On mountain, vale and river, 
Farewell, a long and sad farewell, 
Ere from thee I depart. 

Long, long upon a distant land 
My feet are doomed to wander. 
But wheresoe'er I chance to roam, 
Or fair the spot may be. 
Its fairest scenes thine will recall. 
And make me dwell the fonder 
On all the hopes of liberty 
I still retain for thee. 

O, mother, mother country, 

How my heart throbs at our parting! 

How copiously the bitter tears 

Course down upon my cheek; 

How futile now this voice of mine, 

That erst with words was starting 

The fires of patriotism 

From yon vale to mountain peak. 

I loved thee, yes, I loved thee 
Better far than wealth or station; 
I loved thy valleys, hills and rills, 
And lakes from sea to sea; 
I loved thee first in preference 
To kindred and relation, 
And fondly hoped to see thee burst 
The bonds of tyranny. 

O, would the shackles from thy limbs 

My blood, my life could sever; 

I'd give them freely, fatherland, 

And smile at the exchange ; 

But cruel fortune parts us now, 

And it may be forever. 

To wander, an unhappy man, 

In lands afar and strange. 



296 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Then, fare thee well, my country dear, - 

O, fare thee well forever; 

My latest breath I'll give to thee. 

Wherever I may be ; 

Farewell, each well beloved scene 

On mountain, dale and river; 

Farewell, a long and sad farewell 

To happiness and thee! 



^ 



HIEMWEH. 

She watches, on the shipping dock, 

The voyagers for home-land bound, 
Who up the gangway quickly flock 

As whirling screws the water pound; 
Unbidden tears bedew her cheek 

At thoughts of home, that ocean bars, 
And leaves not till the flag, a-peak. 

Waves out its glorious stripes and stars. 



MANDY'S LOGIC, 

Honey, doan yo keer a mite fob wat dem tattlers sais, 
Yella skin an black hide es er kin en all der ways ; 
Callicor dats white an wat es culled es de same, 
Spinned right fum de cotton bole an 'holds de se'f same 

name; 
Dat sut gal es suah yo fate, so git de ring right quick. 
Den de weddin' ciards sen' roun, an make dem gabbys sick. 



ENVY. 

Three chums at a tavern door as a former companion goes by. 

1st — I'd like to know why it should be? 
I'd like to hear some one explain 
Why he should wag his head so free, 
While struggling chaps, like you and me, 
Must in the slop and mire remain? 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 297 

While we, as good as he, all told, 

Must work and slave in dry and wet; 
In wet and dry and heat and cold 
Must earn the dimes begrudging doled, 
A frugal bit and sup to get. 

2nd — If truth were known, as it may hap, 
He wouldn't wag his head so high : 
'Twould pluck a feather from his cap, 
He wouldn't be too proud a chap 
To treat old friends ere passing by. 

What right has he to domineer? 

What right to give advice unasked? 
What if we spend our earnings here 
And toss the dice for social beer? 

We're not ashamed — we go unmasked! 

3rd — Just so! we're not in apron-strings; 

We've brains and for ourselves can think; 
And if we take a glass, it brings 
Good fellowship — which sometimes stings ! 

Come, let us have another drink. 

3f 



AT LAST. 

The human mind's a mystery ; 
So full of moods is it, that life. 
However long drawn out, is fraught 
From hour to hour with change; 
The crimson fluid coursing through 
The arteries and veins of healthful life 
Hath not less rest, for e'en when sleep 
O'ercometh flesh, the mind dreams on. 

We speak of dreams as if composed 
Of nothing, or like exhausted steam 
Compared to that which whirls the monster 
Wheel ; or like the smoke, ascended high 
From Etna's mouth ; but verily, the 
Brain in dreams retaineth strength 
And vigor, full as in the wakeful hour 
When consciousness hath full command. 



298 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

And thus it is that I, a simple man. 

In common ways traversing, uphold 

The truth, the fact, that tangled skeins 

Of thought are loosed from ev'ry snarl 

Full oft in dreams, for, Heaven be praised ! 

In sleep my brain interpreted the theme 

That day-thought failed to show, 

Or zealous seeking find. 

For many years I'd walked in proper ways, 

And sought to gain, by various means, the love 

Of Him who died that we might live, 

But unavailing each endeavor; 

Faith spake in silent, earnest tones. 

Of His great love for man, but still 

My faltering spirit could not feel 

That He, the Author, dwelt therein. 

For who was I, that He, the Lord of Heaven, 
Could find in such a stained abode 
A fitting place? And thus unsatisfied, 
My thoughts would stray to other themes ; 
Such as the ways and means of living well ; 
The many things in trade most worrying; 
The score of cares a family demands 
Of one to whom they look for all. 

That night, in quietude and sleep 
I in my chamber lay, when from 
An inner room my startled child 
Cried : "Father, come, O come to me." 
And when I'd sought her bed and pressed 
Her to my heart, her dream-born fears 
Were soon dispelled, and in my arms 
Contentedly she passed to sleep. 

Then why, methought, should I still doubt 
The care, the presence of a Heavenly Father, 
When we, poor erring things, respond 
Alertly to our children's earnest call? 
The darkness vanished, and the eastern sun 
Cast golden rays upon my sleeping child; 
The darkness vanished, and the light of peace 
Surged through the chambers of a thankful soul ! 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 299 

THE COMEDIAN. 

One hour ago he tended, bowed in woe, 

Upon the dearest treasure of his life, 
And vainly sought, in ways strong love can show. 

To ease the passing hours of his poor wife. 

Now hear him draw the plaudits of the throng 
With jest and action on the mimic stage, 

While ev'ry quip pains like a rusted prong 
Sunk in the flesh, and ev'ry scene an age. 



-^- 



SKATING SONG. 

Clamp on your skates, my merry mates, 

The lake is smooth and nice. 
And waits to feel the touch of steel 

Upon its breast of ice ; 
Clamp tight and fast, for time slips past. 

No longer make delay. 
Test ev'ry strap, that no mishap 

May stop us on the way. 

Now side by side away we glide 

Like birds on swiftest wing; 
Now right, now left, with movement deft, 

In semicircles swing; 
Now in and out we skim about 

In angles, curves and lines, 
Skate over skate we emulate 

The birds o'er yonder pines. 

Now hand in hand in line we stand. 

And now away we go; 
With jest and song we glide along 

'Mid banks of virgin snow ; 
The cutting wind we leave behind. 

The orifice we've passed, 
The station, too, now looms in view — 

Hurrah ! we're here at last. 



300 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Now back we go with movements slow; 

The wind is all before ; 
We now strike out and hear the shout 

Of people on the shore; 
With ice and steel beneath, we feel 

The joy of flying men; 
Now left, now right, with all our might, 

Bravo ! we're home again. 



-H- 



A POOR MAN'S FORTUNE. 

'Tis true I have not gold, my friend, 

'Tis likewise true I'm poor 
In all that you would prize as wealth. 

And yet, within my door 
I have my jewels — more than one. 

By me so loved and prized. 
Compared with them, all fame and wealth 

Are but as dross despised. 

The first and best that I possess. 

Companion of my life. 
Is she to whom I gave my name 

And honest title — wife; 
No silken gown has she to wear, 

No riches can she claim 
But those that spring from changeless love 

And mother's sacred name. 

When worn and tired with daily toil 

I seek our snug abode ; 
She soothes my cares, relieves my mind 

Of many a troublous load; 
And whether fortune smiles or frowns. 

Be bright or dark the sky, 
I there can find the happiness 

That gold can never buy. 

And when at eve around me cling 

My prattling girls and boys, 
To tell me, in their childlike way, 

Their troubles and their joys, 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 301 

I dance with them, I romp with them, 

I roll them on the floor. 
And join their merry pranks until 

My cup of joy flows o'er. 

Oft, when their little eyes are closed, 

When overcome by sleep, 
We quit our books or household cares 

And to their bedside creep, 
And see their chubby, blooming cheeks. 

Like roses at their birth, 
And think how poor, compared with ours, 

Is all the gold on earth. 

Your wealth may bring to you, my friend, 

The rarest feasts and joys ; 
But I'm content with my fine lot — 

My wife and girls and boys ; 
Though rugged be my path in life, 

'Though hard my hands and brown, 
I would not change what I possess 

For kingly wealth and crown. 



LOVE'S IMPATIENCE. 

Full well I know that it was wrong 

To beard them through the love I bear you. 
But what's to do? I've waited long 

And showed them how I'd prize and care you ; 
They bade me wait two years — two years ! 

And then, perhaps, if naught prevented, 
They'd give consent — the good old dears, 

'Twere wiser far had they consented. 

Why should they grieve us so? oh, yes, 

They've heard he's heir! what if it be true? 
Why, all the wealth he may possess 

Is dross to love we both have, v^^e two ! 
My dearling, dearling! all my plea 

Is what a fervid heart's inciting. 
Let it avail, come, come with me 

To your own church, for its requiting. 



302 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



THE OLD PLAYGROUND. 

Yes, this is the nook, 
Near the noisy old brook, 

Where we romped in the long, long ago; 
And there's the high stone. 
Weed and lichen o'ergrown, 

Where we balanced see saw, high and low. 

Beyond is the hut. 

Where we turned the short cut 

To the wheelwright's, on low windy Ridge, 
Or round to the pines. 
With our pin hooks and lines. 

To catch shiners from rocky road bridge. 

Well, Jack, it appears. 
In the decades of years 

We've been roaming the wide world around. 
There's been many a change 
From old features to strange. 

In the range of our early playground. 

For only a few 

Of the people we knew, 

Ere we turned from our thresholds away, 
Can memory trace 
In the form, voice or face 

Of the people who tread it to-day. 

'Neath head-slab and mound 
In yon burial ground, 

Lie a many we once held most dear; 
And strangers now fill 
The old home on the hill. 

Where I oft yearned to end my career. 

May happiness dwell 

In this place, loved so well. 

And may peace and prosperity reign 
The circle around 
Of our early play-ground. 

When we lie as our kin have long lain. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS 0FS0NG__J03 



THE OLD HALL CLOCK. 

And here the old clock stands 

As in the olden time. 
And still move round the same old hands 

And strikes the same old chime; 

The same old bob-tail swmgs, 

Not fast nor overslow, _ 
And to the chains each lead weight clmgs, 

As in the long ago. 

Few changes do I trace, 

Few symptoms of decay 
Since first I conned its figured face, 

To learn the hour of day; 

The years it has ticked on 

Count fifty twice, I ween, 
And well I wish my life had gone 

Aright, as it has been. 

The years may come and go 

With songs of grief or mirth 
And they may grow and onward how 

With partings and with birth; 

The sire resigns his place, 

The son will his, in time, 
Another comes, while goes apace 

The tock, tick-tock and chime. 

But where can they be found 
Who placed it standing here? 

Who oiled its cogs? Its life spring wound? 
Its crystal face kept clear? 
Ah, me! 'tis easy guessed— 
They're gone, as we shall go. 

And yet the old clock needs no rest, 
Its hands no weakness show. 



■^ 



THE LITTLE BOOTBLACK. 

'Black yer boots, have a shine!" 

A little lad not older 
Than eight, or at the farthest nine, 
With box slung on his shoulder, 



304 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Keeps crying out to all who chance 

To pass his sidewalk station. 
While practising a nimble dance 

In stage-like imitation. 

"Black yer boots, shine yer boots 

Only er half dime, sir, 
I'm the kid what alius suits 

A gent in lightnin' time, sir ; 
Fur why? 'cause blacken' what I use, 

I 'ported from Chinee, sir, 
An' now de pig-tails doesn't choose 

Ter sell us more, yer see, sir. 

"Where'bouts do my lodgin' be? 

Why, anywheres atall, sir, 
It makes no kind o' odds ter me, 

A cask, er bin, er stall, sir; 
Sometimes I gets a' empty box 

Ter take a bully sleep in. 
An' sometimes down on de long docks, 

Der's bilers we kin creep in. 

"Where may be yer parents, bub? 

Me eyes ! where be the cable 
O' Noah's ark, er where's de club 

What Cain lets flop on Able? 
Where he's now de ass's jaw 

What Sheeny soaked the Jews wid, 
Where's de last year's snow, and t'aw 

I spiled me hunky shoes wid? 

"Sure ! I knows de crib right well, 

Dey calls it a' asylum; 
We fellers calls it de kids' hell ; 

De scollards, how dey spile em, 
Wid all de puddins, cakes an' pies 

An' nuts an' apple-tarts, sir. 
An' as f er ice-cream, O, my eyes ! 

Dey gives 'em pints and quarts, sir. 

"What fer did I cut it, den? 

Why, 'cause we wus ded crazy; 
We struck fer more to swaller, when 

Dey stuffed us late one day, see? 
And den dey let us have de stripes 



BRA^IBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 305 



So hard dey'd like ter kill us, _ 
Fur dat's de way dey'd cure de gripes 
Wen porridge wouldn't fill us." 

"Yer bet, sir, frum dat kiddies' hell 

We scooted soon es able, 
De day we felt dat we wus well, 

Dey missed us frum de table; 
O, sure; de dollars what we get, 

'We salts, and buys on tick, sir. 
We rich blokes likes ter run-in debt— 

A quarter ! yer a brick, sir." 



■^- 



IDLE THOUGHTS. 

They crowd the vacant chambers of my brain 

And there they babble, free as ocean air. 
Of the great castle to be mine m Spam, 

And of the freighted galleons I'll own there ; 
They tender me all good I may desire. 

The cream of life they're sure I cannot miss. 
My books shall set the seven seas afire, 

And yet they make me scrawl a screed like this! 



SONG OF THE SEWING-MACHINE. 

Deep in a dark and dismal mine, 

Where entered never a ray 
Of pale moonlio-ht or bright sunshine 

I aeons passed away; 
In darksome veins of a mountain core. 

Where delvers could scarce respire, 
They dug me out, a metallic ore, 

And cast me into the fire. 

Out of the furnace, purified 

From dross and slag I came, 
A seething, hissing and burning tide 

Of liquid fire and flame; 
A smoking mass on the foundry floor. 

Encased in a blackened form. 
No longer a dull and shapeless ore, 

But iron heavy and warm. 



3o6 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Into the factory's noise and din 
They hurled me through the door, 

And deep in the fire they packed me in 
And melted me as before ; 

They poured me carefully into each mould 
Imprinted in yielding clay, 

From shapes and patterns manifold. 

Wrought in an artistic way. 

Chiselled and filed, hammered and drilled, 

And covered with oil and grease. 
With eye and hand by practice skilled. 

They fitted me piece by piece; 
They screwed me tight and worked me loose, 

And polished me bright and clean. 
Then sent me out as a thing of use, 

A wonderful sewing machine. 

Now swift or slow away I go 

Obedient to command; 
My treadle press and I'll deftly sew ' 

A seam, a gusset or band ; 
I'll stitch and hem and braid and fell, 

I'll neatly tuck and quilt. 
Embroider, too, if I'm guided well. 

Them all or which thou wilt. 

In regal hall and stately manse. 

In city, town and vil. 
In homes of wealth and elegance, 

My mission I fulfill; 
I know the airs my lady hums. 

Her favorite demands. 
And ready am I when e'er she comes. 

To work 'neath her dainty hands. 

In thrifty home and humble room. 

In alley, street and lane, 
From morning light to midnight gloom 

I sew and ne'er complain ; 
Through weft and binding warp and woof. 

The pliant thread I drive. 
From cellar to high attic roof 

I toil, that all may thrive. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 307 



To many lives of want and woe, 

I bring a blest relief, 
Of many a pleasant scene I know. 

And many of pain and grief; 
But not for me the storied task 

Of what I may observe, 
Such tales and scenes I fain would mask- 

My lot is but to serve. 

So merrily, cheerily round I go, 

And sew, nor crave for rest, 
Silk, velvet, linen and calico, 

Or coarsest cloth or best; 
No choice of work or time have I, 

My wants are small and few, 
'Tis thine to choose, mine to comply. 

As all good servants do. 



THE WIND WOLF. 

"Mother, Oh, mother! Oh, dear, oh, dear! 
Bolt fast the windows and door; 
The wolf of the hills is prowling near. 
His yelps are echoing sharp and clear. 
They make me tremble and weak with fear 
As never, oh, never before." 

"Dearest, 'tis only the fierce north gale 
That howls in the bending trees, 
That snaps the branches its powers assail, 
And batters the maize-stalks with its flail; 
The yelping you hear is but its wail 
As on to its death it flees. 

"You're ill, my child, and the fever's heat 
Brings fear to your weakened brain; 
The wolf of your mind will soon retreat 
All beaten and tired in voice and feet, 
And Spring, in her bright green robe complete. 
Will smile in the morn again." 



3o8 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

KINDNESS. 

When amid life's devious windings 

We are journeying along, 
If our ways are smooth and pleasant 

And our hearts attuned to song, 
Let us not forget that others 

Who are plodding on the road. 
Have to bear life's heavy burdens, 

And need helping with their load. 

Let us not forget that many 

Feel the labor overmuch. 
That their feet are pierced and blistered 

By the thorns we scarcely touch ; 
That the way, to us so roseate, 

Is to them all roughly strown. 
And our songs and laugh of pleasure 

Are loud echos of their moan. 

Let us speak at least with kindness, 

If we nothing more may do ; 
It may give the drooping courage 

Pristine efforts to renew; 
It may strengthen, too, the weary, 

Who are lagging on the way, 
And may turn the weak and erring 

From the paths that lead astray. 

We are all but brief sojourners, 

Hourly nearing to the end, 
Though our ways while here may differ, 

At the closing they will blend; 
Let us each then to the other 

Kindly thoughts by deeds complete. 
In assurance they will blossom 

At the final judgment seat. 



^ 

A FINE LITTLE MAN. 

He's a fine little man, and as neat as a pin, 
Has a regular hour, going out, coming in, 
"He's no trouble at all" — so the fair hostess states, 
"And he needs not a call for his bill at right dates." 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 309 

Now, this fine little man is an old chum of mine, 
And a nice piece of work of old nature's design; 
And I know that he loved, as a gentleman should, 
A petite little thing, that he ne'er understood. 

It's a long time ago — She's been missing some years. 
And the fount of his grief has run dry of his tears. 
But the mem'ry still lives, as I know by his gloom 
When he studies her picture, that hangs in his room. 

It is often we sit, with a pipe and a glass. 
With our toes to the grate while the winter eves pass, 
And his thoughts find a vent, like the smoke from his lips. 
As he dwells on the past while his toddy he sips. 

God forbid that he wake from the rosy-hued dreams 
That he built on a sand bank, though lasting it seems ; 
When he speaks of the creature who fled from his grasp. 
It were fitter to think of a poisonous asp. 

The quintessence of vanity she was, and fair. 
Her red lips filtered lies, her sweet smile was a snare, 
Her false heart was but rubber straight into the core, 
With less feeling of love than the dam of a boar. 

But she shackled him tight with her bargain-day smiles, 
As a snake a poor bird by its glitter beguiles ; 
Or an angler who plays a live trout in a brook. 
Till its gill is impaled on the fly-covered hook. 

''Thou are gone from my gaze" is the lone song he sings, 
With a warmth that a jorum of hot toddy brings; 
While I see a poor castaway in the night street 
Of a far away city, to make it complete. 

Then a rhapsody follows, as strife follows life. 
In a jumble of lines about children and wife; 
Though Dame Fortune, the fickle, in making her plan, 
Gave instead, a kind heart to this fine little man. 

With . the window-blinds drawn and the lamp burning 

bright. 
Like old cronies we chat in the shank of the night, 
While the smoke from our pipes on the ceiling spreads out 
And the sparks from the logs in the grate dance about. 



310 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

SWEET SIXTEEN. 

In looking back across the chasm 

That lies between the years, 
It almost brings a ticklish spasm, 

That starts with laughter's tears, 
To think what air-built hopes were mine. 

The egotist I'd been, 
In worshiping at the fair shrine 

Of self, when sweet sixteen. 

But, dear, the admiration shown 

For me, by sons of men, 
The compliments for me alone 

Increased self-value then ; 
I'd wed an earl, perhaps a duke, 

With hauteur of a queen : 
Ha, ha-a! O my! haste dear, unhook 

These stays of thrice sixteen. 



THE OLD CIDER MILL. 

As plain as if before me I can see the old shed yet 

In which the cider mill was worked on braced props, firmly 

set. 
And though half the diameter of earth between us lies. 
And half an average life has sped, it's here before my eyes ; 
For this gray stein of amber beer, brewed in an alien land. 
With alien people, alien tongue, and things on ev'ry hand. 
Swings wide the door of memory's vault, wherein its treas- 
ures are, 
Revealing half forgotten things, as in a calendar. 

The early winter days were come, the corn was housed 

and safe. 
And globy, golden pumpkins heaped where naught would 

break or chafe ; 
The prime fruit from the choicest trees were barreled for 

the mart. 
And speckled, sour, and windfalls from the hillsides filled 

the cart ; 
And then the crude and rough old mill, with man or beast 

on sweep, 



BRAMBLES AND TWIG^ OF SONG 311 

Would squeak its yearly crushing song as round the 

cogs would creep, 
While the wide hopper's mouth, full heaped, the juicy 

fruit would gulp 
And vent into the vat beneath the porridge-looking pulp. 

The primitive old press, above the kettle's height from 

floor, 
The clear juice of the mingled mass squeezed out 

from skin to core, 
And down the deep-gouged plank it flowed into the 

catching tubs. 
Not much the worse for speckled fruit or uninvited 

grubs; 
The bungs at hand, the barrels filled — hard cider ones 

streaked black. 
The mustard seeds were added to those stored for 

applejack. 
But to the rest, for vinegar, the "mother" was dropped in. 
And round the vents, for labels, each was marked with 

strip of tin. 

And that's the scene the stein's contents evolve from long 

ago, 
In homely verse ; no quaint conceit or moral doth it show, 
No ravelled metaphor finds room in swing of words or 

line, 
But, oh, the blessed days it brings to this lone life of mine ! 
For, looking back, I seem to feel the hope, the love, the 

joy 
That permeated life's bright hours, with no dull cares to 

cloy, 
Nor aught of that for which men strive with waste of 

heart and brain, 
To find at last life's balance-sheet shows more of loss 

than gain. . 



-4f- 



SLEEPLESSNESS. 

The silence of the midnight hour 
Comes laden with resistless thought. 

As chips by tides in-flowing power. 

Float noiseless on its breast, when caught; 



312 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

They whirl in the mid-channel's flow, 
Nor reach the moonless banks they pass 

Until they strike an undertow, 
A river turn, or bottom grass. 

'Tis thus the sleepless brain moves on 

From scene to scene, from face to face; 
A new thought follows those just gone 

And others rush to fill its place ; 
So, tirelessly, they onward glide. 

Bound in a current past control, 
Till caught in a Lethean tide 

And cast upon Oblivion's shoal. 



ETERNITY. 



Count the sands of the shore. 

And the drops in the seas, 
Count the mites to earth's core. 

Then the leaves on the trees ; 
Add to them ev'ry jot 

Of the orbital spheres, 
And the whole's but a dot 

To eternity's years. 

Now consider the hours 

That we've billet to stay 
On this planet of ours 

Ere we're off and away, 
And take thought of the Night 

Free from doubting and care, 
For the soul's upward flight 

And eternity there. 



^ 



IN A GARRET. 

In this stow-away retreat 
What peculiar things we meet ! 
Worn mementoes of the past, 
Which are thrown around unclassed; 
Which, in time forever gone, 
Served some useful end each one; 
Old and musty, damp and dry^, 
Here they in confusion lie. 'r 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 313 

Here's a chair wthout a back, 
Bearing up a broken rack; 
This long table of plain deal, 
Held up many a hearty meal ; 
Lying there beside the bricks 
Are the pewter candlesticks, 
Once much prized, now souvenirs 
Only, of departed years. 

This uncovered trunk reveals 
Two small baby-carriage wheels ; 
Bless me ! how the years rush by — 
What a helpless thing was I ! 
Here's a bugle, glove and fan, 
Mateless shoe and copper can, 
Match-box, crimping iron, ball, 
And a Bible under all. 

There, upon an old chess-board, 
Lie the sheath and rusty sword, 
Which grandfather often said 
Helped the cause for which he bled; 
Just behind this hoop-dropt cask 
See the grotesque paper mask, 
And the sandals that you wore 
Ten good years aback or more. 

Here's a pack of letters bound 
With a faded ribbon round ; 
Love epistles seem they, too — 
May their vows have proven true ! 
Step by step the garret through 
Olden relics come to view ; 
Let us hope, whate'er betide. 
We'll ne'er be so cast aside. 



AT BED-TIME. 

The light is out, the shade in roll, 

The folks are off to bed; 
The young moon, like a burnished bowl. 

Gleams slantingly o'erhead; 



314 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

And as I lie and watch the clouds 

Move 'neath it in a stream. 
Or see it lost in smoke-like shrouds, 
It seems just like a dream. 

A dream of others days, in fact ; 

For each night, long ago, 
A batch of noisy boys were packed 

To bed, in attic low ; 
And then, as now, the blinking stars, 

And moon, in ev'ry phase, 
Beamed on them through the wide-paned bars. 

While they the deuce would raise. 

A thinking of that healthful bunch 

Makes one less hard^ somehow, 
When hearing striplings, prance and punch, 

As in the next room now; 
For those of age, who've had their plays. 

Should seldom willing be 
To scowl at hearty boyish ways, 

Which with the young agree. 



-^- 



LABOR. 

The God-made law of labor, 

Our heritage on earth. 
Is fraught with heaven's flavor 

To those who prize its worth. 
For with it comes a blessing 

To him who toils and strives. 
Of sweetest sleep's caressing, 

When resting hour arrives. 

The leaders of the Nation, 

The delvers in the soil. 
All brains of application, 

All minds and thews that toil. 
Here's to them in a jorum 

Of good old barley press ; 
May ev'ry work before them 

Be crowned with full success. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 315 



IF-ITS. 

"If I were heir of wealth," said he, 
"A blessing to the world I'd be, 

My share I'd do most willingly 

In aiding decent poverty." 

"If I were steeped in penury," 

■ The rich one said, "I'd clearly see 

The chances lying all round me 

To exercise my charity." 

If "ifs" we use were value fair 

For smallest coins from mint-stamp thrown, 

Who'd be a common millionaire 

When he a nation's wealth could own? 



SOMETHING TO DO. 

Something to do ! who is willing and can 
Give to a ready and muscular man 
Work, only work, nor it matters at what, 
So it brings meal to replenish the pot ; 
So it brings in to a half famished brood, 
Even the coarsest and plainest of food; 
Give but the chance for to shovel or hew. 
To delve or to haul, and I'm ready to^ do. 

Here are hard hands, overwilling to give 
Honest return for the wherewith to live; 
Here are broad shoulders, full able to bear 
The pressure and yoke of a laborer's share; 
Here is a body, all supple and strong, 
To bend to the burden and keep at it long ; 
Here are they all, with a clear, sober head 
For hire for a pittance to purchase us bread. 

Something to do! Is there no one to speak? 
No one to proffer the labor I seek? 
No one to ofifer the work I implore? 
To aid me in muzzling the wolf at the door. 
Oh! for the pinched little faces inside_ 
Awaiting the food they expect to divide; 
Oh ! for the weak, hungry baby, and wife, 
With fount insufficient to nourish its life! 



3i6 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Must I re-listen to hunger-forced cries? 
Must I still look in their food-pleading eyes? 
Must I return to them empty of hand. 
With naught to appease gnawing vitals' demand? 
Oh ! the temptation that comes with the mood 
When nature is calling and craving for food ! 
Something to do for a desperate man, 
Driven to frenzy by poverty's ban. 



COMPENSATION. 

The darkest and most dismal night 

Is followed by the morning light; 

The sombrous shades that dawn may show, 

Retreat before the sunshine's glow. 

The hard-dried streamlets flow again 
When clouds pour out the filling rain; 
The rain's downfall is surely o'er, 
When clouds contain no more to pour. 

The sapling bending in the blast, 
Upsprings again when it is past; 
And purified by the blast's breath, 
Are airs that breed disease and death. 

Few ships that far to seaward sail, 
Escape the wrath of angry gale; 
And fewer lives by far there be 
Unscathed by keen adversity. 

Poor heart! look up, though pained and crossed, 
While hope remains not all is lost;^ 
And e'en though it at last should fail. 
There's rest and peace beyond the veil. 



-5f- 



A POETASTER'S QUEST. 

He strayed through woods and rural lanes 

To glean thoughts for inditing. 
By which to add to his slim gains, 

To soften winter's smiting. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 31? 



No sermon found he in the stones. 
No tongue in tree or hummock, 

No good in anything, for groans 
Of hunger gripped his stomach. 



BOYS AT PLAY. 

Blessings on the noisy lot! 

How they make my old head rattle 
As they come within ear-shot, 

With their shrill and ceaseless prattle; 
How they squirm about in play, 

Heeding neither trip nor falling, 
Up and off again are they, 

Whistling, shouting, cheering, calling. 

Now they clear the bended back, 

One by one they follow after. 
Springing with the supple knack 

Of youth, amid hilarious laughter; 
Here they come in single line, 

Bless me! what a strong temptation 
These old foolish legs of mine 

Have to leap in emulation. 

Keep agoing, happy boys ! 

Now's the time for just such pleasure; 
Soon enough cold care annoys. 

Soon enough ye'll miss the leisure; 
Once I played, as now ye pla}-. 

Leap frog, tag and blind man's buflf; 
Take full frolic while ye may. 

Age and pain come soon enough. 



FORBEARANCE. 

The lines grew tenser in the frowning face 

As word by word he heard of his misdeeds. 
And answered back, with insolent grimace. 

With scorching words that burning anger breeds. 
Then turned to leave the only home he knew ; 

The father's hand the willful youth detained, 
And gently counseling, he closer drew 

Him to his side — the stubborn will restrained. 



3i8 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 
A MIDNIGHT TOOTHACHE. 

Oh, hollow tooth, so crammed with pain ! 

Would that thy nerve would break or strain. 

And so allow a short respite 

From agony, this long-houred night; 

Thou cruel, sharp, infernal thing! 

What has produced thy mad'ning sting? 

What has impelled thee now to come 

And rack an unoffending gum? 

As sneaking thieves and plunderers creep 
In houses, when unconscious sleep 
Binds all within; So thou, curst tooth, 
Art like to them ; in very sooth, 
Comparing both, thou'rt baser far 
Than midnight thieves and prowlers are; 
For they but steal and haste away, 
But thou dost beat and throb and stay. 

Oh ! thousand lances, blunt and hot, 

Thrust through and through the martyr'd spot I 

Oh ! thousand pangs that go and come 

Unceasingly through jaw and gum; 

For all the poignant agony 

And sleepless hours thou givest me, 

Old tooth, however strong thou'rt clenched. 

From out thy bed I'll have thee wrenched. 



-H- 



THE ORGAN GRINDER. 

On rich toned instrument he grinds 

Out classic gems and ragtime airs. 
To please the tastes of various minds 

And earn the pittance each one spares ; 
A pleasure's found in strains they give. 

That soothe and cheer through work o' day, 
By those of us who toil to live 

And love sweet music, sad or gay. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 319 

THE INDIAN CHIEF. 

"Unbind my limbs, ye pale-faced crew, unbind, I am no 
thief, 

Or craven white man, blanched with fear, I am a war- 
rior chief !" 

And as he spoke the lasso strained and bent the sapling 
tree, 

To which they'd bound him firm and fast, while strug- 
gling to be free. 

Around the captive grim-faced men inured to danger, 
stood. 

Who'd followed on the redman's trail through forest, 
plain and flood; 

Five times the sun had risen since they'd seen their chil- 
dren, wives 

And parents, weltering in their gore, the work of savage 
knives. 

Above the dear ones' bodies vowed they all in fervent 

breath, 
To trace the murderers to their lair, e'en to the jaws of 

death. 

And now beneath the forest oaks the stern avengers 

stand 
Amid their dead and djdng foes, the leader well in hand. 

"Unbind my limbs, ye robbing slaves of pale-faced 

squaws," he cries, 
His swarthy features swelling, passion's fire within his 

eyes ; 
Deep in his naked flesh his struggles sink the binding 

thongs, 
While he defies his enemies, recounts the red man's 

wrongs. 



"A son of warrior sires am I, who fifty battles won, 
Who roamed the forests free as air from rise to set of 

sun; 
More fleet were they in race and chase than frightened 

buck or doe. 
And deadlier than the lightning shaft an arrow from their 

bow. 



320 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

■'Bald eagles swooping down on cubs were not more swift 

than they, 
When on the war trail, or so fierce when in the deadly 

fray ; 
With tomahawk or spear alone they grappled grizzly 

bears, 
And hungry wolves within their dens, and I'm a son of 

theirs ! 

"The land was ours for countless moons, until the pale- 
face came 
And stole from us our heritage of rivers, lands and game, 
And speeded to the spirit land papoose and squaw and 

brave, 
Who fought to keep the hunting grounds their warrior 
fathers gave. 

"I hate your name, I scorn your creed, I'd feed the snakes 

your hearts, 
I've fired your homes and killed your tribe with deadly 

poisoned darts, 
I've led my braves and urged them on with gifts to spare 

no lives — 
Here in my belt scalps dangle of your children and your 

wives." 

The Indian's aim shot past the mark, they did not strike 
him dead; 

O heart of man, when vengeance rules, to what dire deeds 
'tis led ! 

With one accord they grasped their prey, unlashed him 
silently, 

And swung him, from his pinioned arms, upon a stout- 
limbed tree. 

As silently they gathered leaves and sticks from woody 

ways. 
And in the light of broad noonday piled fagots in a blaze 
Beneath the pendant body, which they left suspended 

there, 
While jackals prowled around and buzzards hovered in 

the air. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 321 

THE CHILDREN. 

Send the children out to meet me 
When the quitting hour has come ; 
Let their merry voices greet me 
With a hearty welcome home; 
Let me see their glowing faces 
As they peep from hiding places, 
All prepared to bounce upon me 
And make capture by surprise ; 
How the little rompers bind me, 
How they turn and twist and wind me, 
Some before and some behind me. 
While the gladsome light of merriment 
Beams in their dancing eyes ! 

Through the dust and dim and clatter 

Of the toiling hours of day, 

How I long to hear them chatter, 

How I wish to see them play 1 

Home is dull indeed without them, 

For they brighten all about them. 

Though the walls be bare, and floor be hard 

That echoes to their feet; 

Then send them out to meet me. 

And dull care can never cheat me 

Of the joy to which they treat me, 

When I spy the rosy darlings 

Haste to meet me in the street. 



EQUALITY. 

You're dependent, I'm dependent, 
Earth's great multitudes are, too ; 
I in fustian, you resplendent. 
You on me and I on you; 
Ruler, subject, vassal, clod, 
Each on each — and all on God. 



322 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

TWO OF A KIND. 

A fashion plate was he 

Of a superb degree, 

A credit to his custom 

Tailor and his neckwear man ; 

As polished) in his way, 

As a pasty jewel's ray. 

While he thrived on all who'd trust him, 

Like an epicurean. 

A flash of beauty she, 
A dainty fricassee 
Of mantua maker's science 
And sweet millinery frills, 
Who, with longings of her kind, 
Really thought she'd be inclined 
To devote her — well, reliance. 
On the man who'd foot her bills. 

A brilliant function soon 
With Mendlessohnian tune, 
Waked the envy of the roses 
Hanging ripe on fashion's bush; 
Then the aftermath perforce, 
Which in this case spells divorce, 
Tickled all the roses' noses 
Till its fragrance made them flush. 



-^ 



HUNTERS. 

A hunter is a brave man 

When he beards the fighting game; 
He is a coward knave man 

When he riddles beasts quite tame; 
He is a feckless, shame man, 

When he hunts for woman's gold. 
And oft a henpecked, tame man 

When he finds he's bagged a scold. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 323 

ALPHABETICAL APHORISMS. 

A child that hath not innocence is like a pretty flower 
Devoid of pleasant perfume, in its proper blooming hour. 

Be not too hasty to condemn the faults of other men ; 
Their hats may be but number seven, while yours, you 
think is ten. 

Content, unduly nourished, bars the progress of the mind; 
'Tis he who studies, seeks and strives, advances human- 
kind. 

Defame not, or a conscience smudge may leave a lasting 
blot; 
Remember the foul kettle that reviled the blackened pot. 

Each day that's spent a tombstone is to mark the trip we 
had. 
Whereon the epitaph is true^ be it or good or bad. 

Fame, offspring of great thoughts and deeds is scarce, for 
world's applause, 
But claims of mediocre gifts are thick as squawking 
daws. 

Go to thy rest unburdened of all hate for other men; 
The sleep of peace is tranquil and — you may not wake 
again. 

Hope is a beacon on the shore with death's white waves 
between, 
Which signals that the storm shall pass and calm soon 
intervene. 

Inducements off'ring high per cent steer clear of and be 
wise; 
Old Nick's an honor man in baiting souls with whopping 
lies. 

Judicious pleasures ease and please, good nature doth 
instill ; 
All work, no play, drives joy away, breeds hate in Jack 
and Jill. 



324 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Kings are but men with power to make and unmake at a 
breath, 
To war, to slaughter, conquer — but they cannot conquer 
death. 

Leave not to chance, the weather vane, life's vital needs to 
fill; 
The world is strewn with derelicts, all rudderless of will. 

Make circumstance your willing nag, drive fair and hard 
and fast. 
Nor stoppage make for wassail, or you'll reach the goal 
the last. 

No wonder that the Darwin guess should some poor minds 
enthral ; 
Their horrid mirrors may reflect the monkeys, grins and 
all. 

O'ercome the temptings of the flesh by living godly lives ; 
By exercise of mind and matter ev'ry mortal thrives. 

Prefer to wit, plain solid sense, to pride, sweet virtue's 
ways ; 
'Tis peace of mind, as born of both, the better profit pays. 

Quack not of what you're going to do, but do it out of 
hand; 
The world has need of doers, not of boasters, under- 
stand. 

Rememb'rance is a soothing balm when pleasant thoughts 
it brings 
But when it wakes remorseful deeds, like acid touch it 
stings. 

Seem not to be, but be in truth, an upright one and just; 
The world has microscopic eyes and sees more than it 
must. 

Treat friendship as a valued thing that cannot bear neglect ; 
If woes betide it seeks your side — what more can one 
expect ? 

Unburnt calcareous stone might be an asset, lacking gain; 
But fire refined, 'tis cleansing lime — the moral seems 
quite plain. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 325 

Voracious appetites are prone to thrive at cost of thought ; 
Thus, reptiles gorge at once their weight, then drowse 
and soon are caught. 

Wiseacre's say 'tis wrong to plod at normal pleasure's loss ; 
That ere we've gained the fortune craved we'll be where 
wealth is dross. 

Xylography's an ancient art, requiring cunning hands; 
But graving truths on dullard minds a greater skill de- 
mands. 

Yield with good grace when once convinced that wrong 
now right appears ; 
The man who never made mistakes is dead a million 
years. 

Zeal is commendable when shown in causes deemed aright ; 
Evasion of a duty gives the weaker side the fight. 



-4f- 



ON BROADWAY. 

Both up and down the wondrous street, 

No stoppage in the throng, 
A multitude of sounding feet 

Is heard the whole day long; 
The light-shod tread, the thick-soled pound, 

The wheels of toil, of ease, 
Combine in one unceasing sound 

From all its arteries. 

No ship upon a crowded sea 

In storm, wind-veering days, 
Can tack about so expertly 

As those who tread these ways; 
It's out and in, and in and out 

Through ever moving life. 
Where gentle, rough, and ope-mouthed lout 

Graze elbows, without strife. 

Imagination hath its place 

In motley crowds like these — 
Glance at yon painted, brazen face, 

And say what mind's-eye sees; 



326 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Look at that steely-featured crew, 

This passion's abject slave; 
Now see the thousands, honest, true, 

Who follow on the pave. 

And here the physiognomist 

Finds ground to test his power. 
Where sad, glad, good, and bad, exist 

Through ev'ry passing hour; 
Where Hebrew, Gentile, yellow, black, 

Commingle, wonder, stare 
At types of wealth, at those who lack, 

Along the thoroughfare. 



LONGINGS. 

Content is guest to few who live; 
The king his diadem would give 
To be as free from strife and care 
As the poor beggar cringing there. 

The beggar, envious of the king, 
Dreams of the heaven it would bring 
To him and his, did he possess 
The ruler's sweet contentedness. 

Yon invalid with countless wealth, 
Would sacrifice it for the health 
That crimsons the poor laborer's blood. 
There delving, knee-deep, in the mud. 

The toiler in the earthy mass 
Perceives the sickly Crcesus pass, 
And thinks he'd gladly bear the pain, 
Could he by it his dollars gain. 

A matron with all joys of life 
Save that she is a childless wife. 
Would give them all and deem it bliss, 
Could she but feel her own babe's kiss. 

A mother, overworked and poor, 
The matron sees drive past her door, 
And murmurs, while her bairns she tends. 
That toil and trouble never ends. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 327 

And so it goes from year to year, 
In ev'ry station, age and sphere; 
The boy would love to be a man, 
The man be back where life began. 

The winter stings, we would 'twere past, 
The summer brings its warmth at last, 
But soon it palls on body, brain, 
And longings rise for cold again. 

Perhaps there is a wise intent 
In wishes bred of discontent; 
Perhaps experiences it brings 
Will lead us on to higher things. 

Mayhap e'en now, or sometime hence, 
'Twill guide our longings by sound sense. 
And turn our minds to where they cease. 
Where naught is known but perfect peace. 



A WINDY DRIVE. 

The wind is out a roystering 

And merrily it plays, 
It scatters birds upon the wing, 

Their leafy roosts it flays. 
It slashes down the weeds and grass, 

Bends low the corn-stalks' load. 
And swirls the dust and leaves in mass 

Along the field-bound road. 

Old Piebald shakes his slouching head 

And keeps the traces slack; 
He minds not what in wrath is said, 

Nor lash on shaggy back; 
But Madge says he's a faithful nag, 

Much more than sweethearts be. 
Smiles when of my long love I brag 

And cuddles up to me. 



328 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

EARLY DAYS. 

Remember ye the happy days 

Of childhood's innocence. 
The winsome songs, their stories, plays, 

Their wealth of confidence? 
Ah ! now they rise, in no wise marred 

By being interred sO' long, 
As brushwood-land when cleared and charred 

Brings back its wild-bloom throng. 



■^ 



APOSTROPHE TO MUSIC. 

Beats there a heart in human breast. 

Sweet charmer of the sad and gay, 
So unresponsive, so unblest. 

As not to thrill beneath thy sway? 
Thou art a universal boon, 

A gift stamped with the seal divine, 
And man and nature all in tune, 

With smiles and tears serve at thy shrine. 

The babe, aroused by fright or pain 

That mother's bosom fails to ease, 
Is soothed to rest and sleep again 

By thy low, lulling melodies; 
And when thy charm, by lute or voice. 

In cultured cadences arise. 
The gloomiest of souls rejoice, 

And tears upspring to merriest eyes. 

The criminal who slaves away 

His life, far from his native hearth. 
Hears measures of an olden lay 

He learned from her who gave him birth; 
And though his heart be hard as steel. 

And closed to ev'ry good desire. 
The thoughts thou wak'st in him reveal 

The smouldering spark of virtue's fire. 

The soldier, trembling as he nears 

The field, where horrid carnage reigns. 

Courageous grows, forgets his fears. 
In listening to thy martial strains; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 329 



And in such scenes antipodes — 
In peaceful home and house of praise, 

Thy power to comfort and to ease 
The troubled soul endures always. 

Each phase of nature's full of thee— 

The patter of the summer shower ; 
The zephyr sighing in the tree ; 

The song of bird in leafy bower; 
The thunder rolling down the sky; 

The seething' of the angry brme ; 
The hurricane that flashes by— 

O, music, ev'ry charm is thme! 



AN OLD BEAU'S REVERIE. 

When eyes were bright and hearts were light 

And pockets bare of scrip and money, ' . 
It seems to me a mystery 

How all our world had been so sunny; 
I was high-strung, she gay and young, 

And hardy as the hillside heather. 
We cared for naught the dear days brought 

As long as we could roam together. 

All browned she was, with sun the cause, 

And golden were her wayward tresses, 
And blue her eyes as southern skies 

When summer wind the earth caresses; 
Nor was that all; not over tall. 

But lithe and willowy she was, truly, 
And should one dare, all unaware. 

To buss her lips, bang! swift and coolly. 

We both were young, she grew high-strung, 

Attraction seemed to weaken after; 
Apart we drew, as such souls do. 

With lippy wishes, shallow laughter. 
She's three-chinned now, a Von's good frau, 

A tierce of frauliens call her mother; 
Though fair they are I thank my star 

That their dear pater is another. 



330 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

THE WINE IMP. 

One sip of wine will bathe the drooping spirits in delight beyond 
the bliss of dreams. — Milton. 

Every inordinate cup is unblessed and the ingredient is a devil. 
— Shakespeare. 

I once hung on a bending vine 
In purple clusters, warm sunshine 
Embraced and formed me all complete, 
A ripe and healthful food to eat ; 
But not content to have me so, 
In all my native, lucious glow, 
They plucked me from my native vine 
And metamorphosed me into wine. 

It was amid the joy and mirth 

Of vintage time that I had birth, 

When men and maids joined in the din 

Of merriment, that I slipped in; 

In liquid form I yet possess 

Fine qualities that many bless, 

And rich and poor, where'er I flow, 

A welcome unto me bestow. 

The toilers of the vineyard slopes 
Bound in my lusciousness their hopes ; 
And to their frugal fare, content 
I ever bring with nourishment; 
A healthful hue to pallid cheek, 
A strength renewed to body weak. 
And vigor unto weary brains, 
Are blessings that my juice contains. 

A dual power is bound in me — 
A blessing and a misery; 
The last oft overcomes the first. 
And makes of me an imp accursed; 
'Tis then I revel and delight 
In tempting the strong appetite. 
Fomenting stupor, hate and broils, 
When once the victim's in my coils. 

Content flies out where I go in 

And virtue makes a way for sin; 

Gaunt want stalks round where fulness throve, 

And violence replaces love; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS QF SONG 331 

The gifted tongue with babble wags, 
And gentle maidens change to hags ; 
While all forget they have a soul 
To save or lose, when I've control. 

I fill the jails and madhouse cells; 

I make of homes so many hells; 

Vile passion I make arbiter, 

And stamp my victim murderer ; 

And to the last, I wield such power, 

That even in the dreaded hour 

That drags them towards an outcast's grave, 

For my companionship they crave. 



Jf 

HOPE. 

Forbid the day when it shall flee, 
For joy should then negation be, 
And darkling phantoms everywhere 
Would breed the demons of Despair; 
But grant, Quintessence of all good ! 
That it remain, in bloom and bud. 
Till life's last, longest web is spun 
And reeled on Hope, which Faith begun. 



HIS DUCKY. 



The days may lag, the world may wag, 

The thunder-clouds may clap, 
The sky may pour, the wind may roar, 

And I'll not care a rap; 
Why should I fear when she, the dear, 

Consents to be my wife? 
To share my purse for better, worse, 

As we jog on through life. 

The marriage rite's a pure delight 

When one has met his fate; 
The best he knows, that Heaven bestows, 

Is one love-chosen mate, 
Who, when he's g'lad is never sad. 

But joins his merriment. 
And when he's blue knows what to do 

To raise his spirits bent. 



332 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

My ducky! where on earth is there 

Her like, search where you will? 
When her eyes shine with love in mine 

My very soul's athrill; 
And when we scan in mind her plan 

For making home a nest, 
Where just we two may bill and coo, 

What more can joy suggest? 



Unlucky me! that I should see 

My consort change like that; 
A very shrew all through and through, 

A spiteful, scratching cat! 
A touchwood wife that thrives on strife 

As screeching owls on mice ; 
Would that some flaw her wagging jaw 

Could bind as in a vise. 



THE TRAMP. 



Poets sing loud in thy praise, 
In well rounded, metrical lays. 
They sit at their firesides and see 
Thy flakes falling down rapidly 
On window-sill, garden and tree, 
On housetop and hillside and lea, 
And raise, in a sweet melody, 
Their voices in honor of thee, 
"Beautiful snow." 

Or as at their ease they recline 
And guzzle their brandy or wine, 
While hot blood is coursing their veins. 
And thoughts, without bridles or reins. 
Run wild through their wine-muddled brains, 
They sing- with ecstatic deli.^ht 
In measures melodious and light, 
Full many a soul-stirring strain. 
Till space echoes back the refrain, 
"Beautiful snow." 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGSOF_SONG___J33 



With servants and wealth at command 
They order their teams and look blanQ ; 
They step in their elegant sleigh 
Then whip up their nags and away, 
And think it a very fine day 
As they list to the jinglmg bells play 
On the trappings of chestnut and gray, 
And then sing of thee, without pay, 
"Beautiful snow. 

When wrapped up in robes snug and warm, 
Much beauty they see m this storm; 
But send them out into the street 
With poorly clad body and feet, 
And they'll not think thy beauty so sweet, 
But will vow to the people they 11 meet 
Thou'rt a hypocrite, fraud and cheat, 
Full of glittering smiles of deceit 
And will long to return to the heat 
Of the fire, whether coal, wood or peat, 
If they're only a v,^arming retreat, 
"Beautiful snow. 

They love thee who have a full purse, 
But to me thou'rt a plague and a curse. 
Blood-freezing, damnable snow! 
They tell us 'tis wicked to swear; 
But what cares a man in despair 
When his shoes are all out of repair 
And his body's half frozen and bare? 
O, rich ones, ye are not aware 
Of the famishing cries everywhere, ^ 
When snow fills the earth and the air; 
No no, to sweet comfort ye re heir. 
And feel not the fangs of the snow. 

Come, Towser, old friend, I've a notion 

We're warmer when keeping m motion, 

So scamper along and be quick— 

Poor brute! thou'rt as stiff f^y stick 

From the merciless blow and the kick 

They gave thee last mght for thy trick 

Of selecting the fattest of chick; 

As thou'rt hungry, with nothing to pick, 

Here's my hand for the last time to lick. 

For I, too, am cold, stiff and sick 

Of myselfi the old world and the snow. 



334 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



Let us lie down together, old chum, 

And warmth from our breathing may come; 

Lie closer, old comrade, to me. 

And snugger and warmer we'll be; 

There's no reason we should disagree. 

Or differ about pedigree; 

From landlords' coercion we're free, 

For we own this soft bed equally. 

And as for the feathers we see 

Falling down in such vast quantity, 

They'll hide out of sight presently. 

Companions that black misery 

Drove out in the bone-freezing snow. 

Why whine so and tremble, old boy? 
Am t our bed wide enough to enjoy? 
Just hear how the biting winds sweep 
The light flakes on our bed in a heap ! 
'Tis long since we'd lodging so cheap 
With a blanket so white, soft and deep; 
Now a numbness I feel o'er me creep, 
An' a drowsy — dull — feelin' of — sleep. 

* * * * :|c 

"Our Reporter in going his round 

Last night, in the face of the storm. 
Stumbled over a perishing hound, 

Whining over a snow-covered form. 
His clothes were quite light and threadbare; 

No money upon him was found; 
His face had a look of despair 

As he lay on the bare, frozen ground. 
The faithful old dog would not go 

From the place where his late master lies, 
But acts like a creature in woe, 

As it whines for the dead man to rise. 

"We're expecting to hear great distress 
Exists 'mong the poor of the town; 
When putting this item to press 
The fierce storm was still coming down." 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 335 

THE BOOGIE MAN. 

Shet yo peeps yo yellin' coon, 
Foh I calls de boogie man, 
Dat'll cum wid big hohn spoon, 
Dig yo eye out, den he'll ran 
Up de chimley, roun' de roof, 
Fah erway, an dat's de troof. 

Ef yo doan shet yo eye, 
Chok yo yellin' jes' rite now, 
Boogie man'll cum by'm by, 
Guv yo ter de yalla cow; 
Dat ole cow wid sticken hohn — 
Dat's de troof es suah yo bohn. 

Know'd er babby dat one nite 
Yell and yell for mammy so, 
Boogie man blow out de lite, 
Bited babby's little toe. 
En ess mammy nevah seed 
Whah dat toe is; no, indeed. 

Yo es jes' mah honey deah 
Sense yo shet yo yellin' down; 
Shoo, yo sobbin', I bees heah ! 
Mammy brung yo cake frum town; 
Dah ! yo cunnin', pain toof ting, 
Shet yo mouf an' Dinah sing. 

Missee sais de Lawd luh me, 

An' I shuly luh de Lawd; 
Den she sais, lub puffecly 

Ebry crittah ting o' Gawd; 
But Tse shua I nebber kin, 

'Cause mah haat cain't hoV no moah. 
Fur mah honey es widin. 

An' de hasp's enside de doah. 



THE COON IN THE BUSHES. 

De coon am in de bushes by de cohn, 

De pot am in de cabin by de fiah, 
I'll flop dat leetle crittah suah's yo' bohn. 

Afore de day kin skeltah eny hiah ; 



336 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

ril cotch de cunnin' debil by de tail, 

An' rip de hide right ofif jest Hk' er streak. 
An den squar down intah de cookin' pail 
He sinks, wif salt an' peppeh, an' er leek. 
Mirandah, Mirandah, 
Doan yo' heah me hollah? 
De coon am waitin' fo' me en de bushes, 
An' he's woff er haf er dollah. 

De cohn am ripe an' tuhnin' on de stalk, 

De oriole he twittah mo' an' moah, 
De mockin' bird he imahtate de talk 

Atween de hens an' chickens by de doah; 
De hog am fat an' juicy fo' de steel, 

An' en de brine de poke'll ha' d'n soon, 
De carerlines. hom'ny an' de meal 
• Es waitin' fo' dat tendah leetle coon. 
Mirandah, Mirandah, 
Chuck de banjo heah. 
An' lis'en to yo boberlink a wabhlin' 
De music dat you lub so deah. 

Huah, huah, chub-a-rub-a-dub, 
Down en de meddah I sloped ter meet my lub, 
De grass et wus wet wif de doo ef de night, 
De moon up en heaben wus er risin' all bright, 
De bull-frog wus singin' de music dat he knows, 
De bat flewed aroun' whar de sugah-cane grows, 
De katydid him roosted up en de linden tree. 
An' eberyting wus jest right fer yo' lub, an' me. 

Huah, huah, chub-a-rub-a-dee, 
Down ter de meddah my lub she come ter me, 
Her deah eyes wus soft like de calf's en de shed. 
Her har' wus de tickest en eny wench's head. 
Her skin wus es smoove es de glass en de pane. 
Her teet wus es white es de chalk wifout stain. 
Her bref wus es sweet es de hay en de mow. 
An' she wus es strong es er mule en de plow. 

Huah, huah, chub-a-rub-a-dub, 

Dere en de meddah I tole de tale o' lub. 

An' dere en de stahs' face I swar'd ter be troo, 

An' git her silks an' sich like, jest es de white folks do; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG Z2>7 

De silks nebbah growed, ner de jewels wif de rings, 
De picayunes wus sca'ce, but she'd heaps o' udder tings, 
Befoh de cabin doah dere, de pickerninies squall. 
An' dem es moah, deah, lub, ner enyting et all. 

Heah ! hang de banjo up, I's outah chune; 

De shotgun am de music fo' me eah; 
I'll make tracks fo dat sassy leetle coon, 

Jest lis'en an' his def note you'll heah; 
Yo git de pot er bilin' for de meal, 

De carerlinas, onions an' de cohn, 
An' tell de Marse I's toilin' en de fiel' — 

I'll cotch dat tem'tin' coon es suah yo bohn. 



¥: 

FISHIN'. 

Lawdy! sesh er day es dis mah eye haint nevah see, 
Sun er shinin', mockers whislin' ebry whar yo be, 
Cotton boll neah bustin', an' de bees am on er spree, 

An whafer mus' yo wase de mornin' sunnin'? 
Git er line, an chop er pole, de ribbah's callin' sum; 
Dig er kist o' maggots, fo ah's shua de fish'll cum; 
Ah'll hoof ter de cohnah stoah an' git er pint o' rum, 

Fer ets wuk ter hole de pole ef dey hain't runnin. 

5f 



THE BELLE OF THE ALLEY. 

She was christened Mary Jane, 
An' I loves her, so I does ; 
She's a-roomin' in our alley 

With a widder; 
She works down in Carpet Lane 
In the clatter, din and fuzz, 
Where she earns 'er wage by tally, 

As they bid 'er. 

Ev'ry night I rushes out 

When the foundry bell clangs six. 

An' I makes tracks t' the mill gate. 

Where I meets 'er; 
An' we strolls awhile about 
Like a pair o' 'appy chicks, 
While we talks love at a great rate, 

An' I treats 'er. 



338 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 



As we sips our 'alf an" alf, 

With our hunks o' bread an' cheese, 

We're as 'appy as the best 

In Lunnon town; 
An' it's great t' 'ear 'er laugh 
As I tells 'er things that please, 
When I give 'er lots o' chest 

To swaller down. 

Ev'ry pay night off we goes 
To a dawnce or vaudeville, 
Where we buys an eve'nin's jolly 

For two shillin' ; 
When it's out, a place we knows 
Where we suppers at our will, 
Where there's naught too good for Molly, 

Sweet an' willin'. 

On a Sunday when it's fine. 
In 'ide Park we takes a stroll, 
An' I tells 'er she's no sham gel 

In 'er dressin'; 
With 'er 'at a mode design 
An' 'er mop up in a roll, 
She's as fine as any damsel 

By us pressin'. 

An' I feels as proud as Pride, 
Like a chap with lots o' chink 
That rides by on 'is 'igh mettled, 

Over-rich fed, 
With a loidy by 'is side^ 
Both 'er cheeks a bloomin' pink, 
An' a chimley-pot 'at settled 

On 'er 'ead. 

We meanders — that's 'er word — 
By the lake an' t' the zoo, 
Where we loiters round the cages 

On the right ; 
Then 'er lovely voice is 'eard 
Hummin' soft as finches do. 
Till me ears me 'eart engages 

With delight. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 339 

We takes in the flower-'ouse blooms, 
An' I says right there, says I : 
'Molly, what's the gain o' waitin'? 

Let us marry; 
I 'ave sixty bob for rooms^ 
An' I've fifty pound laid by," 
Then says she : "With such a ratin', 

Let us, Larry." 



Hf- 



SONG OF A NE'ER-DO-WELL. 

It's a merry heart for me 

When I pick my company, 

To uptramp the country's leafy ways 

Between the towns I choose; 
For it smooths the roads I tread, 
And it makes an easy bed. 
When beneath the naked starlight 

On the soft crushed grass I snooze. 

It is bootless, at the best, 

To hug trouble to one's breast 

When old pleasure's near us waiting, 

Longing to be taken there ; 
When it even coaxes, strives. 
To be cuddled in our lives. 
While the tattered rag, adversity, 
Would drag us to her lair. 

Life's a dream, the Summers go; 
Then it's ho ! my covey, ho ! 
To the bosky lanes and hedges 

And the mows in which to lurk; 
There is prog along the way. 
There is booze to make us gay, 
And grow friendlier with Nature, 

While the daffes croak and work. 



FATA MORGANA. 

The mind has its own atmosphere 
Of vain desires, perspective clear. 
Wherein appears th' illusive bow 



340 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Of Hope, as in fair Reggio 
Is seen, high in Italia's air, 
Refractions of the coast-line there, 
Which fade, leave not a trace behind, 
Like baseless visions of the mind. 



-3f 



THE SEXTON'S PLAINT. 

'Tis strange what cackling folk there be 

In congregations like to this; 
There's seldom anything quite right, 

But always something seems amiss ; 
The sermon's so-so, but too short; 

The choir is — well, if they can sing ! 
The vestry — what a careless sort; 

The people — they'll stand anything. 

You see, in parishes like ours 

There's always good and bad around, 
Just like potatoes in a sack, 

Where most are good;, but some's unsound; 
But take them all in all, you see. 

They're like most church crowds anywhere, 
Which means we have some cutting tongues, 

That don't know how to be just fair. 

Now, this is how it came about : 

Last summer, when the very stones 
Were scorched — you know how hot it was — 

She was a walking rack of bones ; 
The doctor ordered change of air, 

Good nourishment and old port wine — 
He might as well have written her 

Prescriptions for a diamond mine. 

The parson — bless his old, kind heart! 

Who knows of poverty and pride — 
Went down into his own slim purse. 

For board and room by the sea-side ; 
She never knew who paid the bill, 

And long before the first snow flew, 
Came back to teach her Sunday class. 

All plump and hearty, good as new. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 341 

Well, that is all, except that he 

Sailed down to see her twice while there, 
To cheer her, for she's quite alone, 

Without relations anywhere ; 
And ever since she seems to think 

He heads the list of all God's plan; * 

And that's the gospel reason why 

The tabbies cut her all they can. 

On Sunday night the rector preached 

A sermon on true charity, 
And as he brought the lesson home, 

'Twould make a jackass laugh to see 
The half-formed frowns and shallow smirks 

Across some tell-tale faces flit, 
Reminding of the old-time saw : 

"D'on't wear the shoes unless they fit." 

I'm not complaining, understand, 

But it's nigh time to call a halt, 
When some folks, letting on to pray, 

Are only itching to find fault ; 
And mind, I don't mean tabs alone, 

But men who should at least be just; 
Why, when a sunbeam filters through 

The windows, they just vow it's dust! 

And isn't it our Father's house? 

Ain't black men's souls dear in His sight? 
You'd think not, if you'd seen the way 

They treated one last Sunday night, 
ril bet the wings I hope to get. 

That when they've left the judgment seat, 
Some whining cranks^, now in this church. 

Will beg old nick to ice the heat. 

My ears are gossip-traps, I know. 

And catch a lot from parish-aids 
And mothers' meetings, sundry guilds. 

And other clubs of men and maids ; 
But from to-day, I promise fair, 

I'll choke the gab that to me flows, 
And flag their stories, switch them on 

To other tracks, with all their woes. 



342 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

EASTER. 
(In the South.) 

The breath of April, warm and clear, 

Calls out the early blooms, 
On Earth's warm bosom they appear 

From Nature's long-locked rooms; 
They crowd the land, the trees they crown, 

They spring from where they may, 
To greet the blue sky, smiling down 

On this glad Easter day. 

But dearer far than beauteous flowers 

Are those for whom they're grown, 
The priceless blooms of living powers 

The Gardener claims His own. 
And all of them, the young, the old, 

He treats in tenderest way, 
That they may last for time untold, 

Where never comes decay. 

And so, sweet hymns of joy resound 

From glad and thankful hearts, 
While ev'ry land the world around 

Its meed of praise imparts, 
That vernal Spring has come apace 

In garments bright and gay, 
With welcome in her beaming face 

To greet this Easter day. 

-JC- 



VERITIES. 

It is not what we would, but what we can 
And do perform that marks the useful man. 

Mere dreaming of a nobler life is vain, 
Unless it raises to a higher plane. 

To think and try, e'en though results be small. 
Is wiser far than not to try at all. 

For oft' times, when our best endeavors fail. 
Our thoughts grow pregnant on another trail, 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 343 

From which arise facts of another kind, 
That ne'er had otherwise besieged the mind. 

Like one who digged in arid land for gold 

And loosed a spring, more worth a thousand-fold. 

Or like a scholar teaching, without fee, 
One who would otherwise unlettered be, 

Who saw, in time, the seed of knowledge spread 
Till all the world of art had crowned him head. 

Invention, science, writings, were not known 
If they'd lain dormant in the brain alone. 

But when the active hand and probing mind 
Are mated, there man's highest powers we find. 



AN EVERYDAY MAN. 

He lives a useful life. 
He earns the good he gets, 
No stranger he to daily strife 
Where toil and thinking's ever rife — 
He is not one who frets. 

If fortune passes by 
And lights on other head. 
It does not generate a sigh, 
But brings a hope 'twill satisfy 
The one to whom 'twas led. 

His promises are few. 

But when once pledged they're sure; 

He deems his aid is ever due 

To friends in need, and others, too, 

Be they or rich or poor. 

Clean is his life and straight, 

As the old roster shows; 

His presence tends to elevate 

To better things, a friend or mate — 

As ev'ry crony knows. 



344 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

His creed holds naught that's dull, 
It is of Heaven's plan, 
The kernal minus most the hull; 
His love for truth is ever full — 
And, strange, he's but a man! 



^f 



THE PESSIMIST. 

In sweet imagined guise I saw, 

In childhood's days, O, many things 
In which seemed never any flaw 

To simple reasonings ; 
But not so now ! old innocence 

Is a chimera; wisdom's mind 
Sees good, alleged, garbed in pretense. 

And true worth hard to find. 



'X- 



IN THE SLUMS. 

It is not so far as one well might suppose 
From here to a place of content — 
Wherever the wind in the crowded town blows. 
No matter in what begrimed alley it goes, 
The light of experience to seeking ones shows 
The homes where its blessings frequent. 

I wot of a room in a rickety house 
Where Want often shows his cold face, 
Though fire-water never is used to carouse, 
There's little of milk for the children to bouse, 
And seldom a scrap for a foraging mouse, 
In all of the wretched old place. 

The mistress, she toils hard to meet the week's rent. 
O'er suds-smelling clothes in her tubs, 
And wears her poor knuckles away, to present 
The vesture on time, though in fear the payment 
May not be paid promptly, she's deeply intent 
On her work, as she hums, wrings and rubs. 

The children are touselled and dirty and fat. 
One here and one there in the hall. 
Another is straddling a horsey bed-slat, 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 345 



And still there's another one shaking a hat 
In his teeth— he's a dog that is killing a rat— 
And the mother smiles on through it all. 

"Coom Maggie an' Tommy an' Nanny an' Phil, 
Coom, childer, 'tis toime y should ate; 
Pour out th' warm tay, Nan' an' giv' 'em a fill, 
An' doon't cry f r anymore bread an' tay till 
Y'r faither cooms 'ome, an' be sure t' keep still, 
F'r 'er 'asn't noo work, dears, o' late." 

"Ah ! 'ere 'e cooms noo"— and a big, strapping man 
Picks up baby Tom by the door, 
And splurts out : 'We're lucky' as fast as he can, 

"O'im up t' a job, wife; a foiner wan than 
The last 'un I druv— it's a furnitoor van. 
So giv' up a-washin' an' 'elp me 't plan, 
Fur me wage'll be plenty, an' more." 
^ 

SATURDAY NIGHT. 

Of all the days the whole week through 

The last suits me the best, 
It's then I've little else to do 

Than loaf, and eat, and rest; 
For when at week's-end comes my pay, 

As true as sand's not loam, 
My lass hies down the workshop way 

To cozen me to home. 

'Tis naked truth that I'm a loon 

When wage is in my hand, 
For with my mates, in the saloon, 

I drink while I can stand; 
And then the cupboard shows the lack 

Of vituals; young-uns cry 
For want of meals or school-day snack, 

Until next week goes by. 

Lord knows, she knows, and now I know 

What she has had to bear, 
For, cutting jeers, and drunkard's blow, 

And hunger's been her share; 
And through it all she clung to me. 

As only true wife can — 
O God, O God! at last I see! 

Help me to be a man! 



346 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

THE WORRY FIEND. 

There's a lot of things that worry us 

In this old world of ours. 

And they come a-frowning- to us uninvited; 

So there's not a speck of wisdom shown in 

Wasting precious hours 

Looking for them, for no human's ever slighted. 

They're not chary of their visits to the 

The one who treats them best. 

Where they meet complaining welcome ev'ry minute ; 

But the wiser one will bear them, though not 

Take them to his breast, 

And press onward to a bright ray till he win it. 

Ope your eyes and look around you at 

The glory of the day; 

Was it not all dark and stormy in the morning? 

Was the welcome zephyr blowing? Did the birds 

Sing quite so' gay? 

Was the sunshine so resplendent, all adorning? 

Take the shower of misfortune as a 

Patient takes a pill, 

In the hope of good resulting from its using; 

Raise the pinions of your spirit with a 

Cheerful, trusting will, 

And the worry fiend will soon be seen vamoosing. 



-3f- 



CUPID. 

While men may meet girls fair and sweet, 

Sly cupid you'll ne'er lose your job, 
For sure as sin they'll tumble in 

The pot of love, from heel to knob ; 
They'll squirm about, stay in, jump out, 

Join hands and hearts by will or laws. 
Then coo and kiss, or hate and hiss 

And you, you dumpling, are the cause, 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 347 



WHAT SHOULD A TRUE WIFE DO. 

An' what should a true wife do, I say, 
But hop out o' bed at the peep o' day, 
To see that her good man trips his way 

All cheerily in the mornin'; 
Turn out o' bed while he tops his rest. 
An' start the fire, though she's but half dressed, 
An' pleasantly try to do her best, ^ 

All bothersome trouble scornin'. 

An' then when the kettle is on the boil, 

The rasher all ready to fry or broil. 

The coffee steeped, an' the flame from the oil, 

Shines over the clean spread table; 
Then call him once, an' if still he'll doze. 
Just give a swish to the warm bed clothes. 
An' tickle his soles till his eyes unclose, 

An' out he'll spring if he's able. 

Your laddie is strong, an' is willin', too, 
To use his muscles the whole day through, 
To show the love that he bears for you, 

An' you alone, my dearie; 
But love is like to a faggot fire, 
It kindles and glows, but it will expire. 
An' leave but ashes, not warm desire, 

Unless you are fond and cheery. 

It's like a blossom, a tender thing, 

That smiles and thrives in the balmy Sprmg, 

But if it be pierced by a frosty sting, 

Good-by to the lovely dearie! 
For all the kisses of warmer hours 
Can never coax back its beauteous powers, 
So, let us be loving to loves of ours. 

Or they may grow cold and weary. 

Be off, my child, to your cooin' nest. 

An' meet your mate, when he comes to rest, 

With kisses an' smiles while you're neatly dressed 

As when he came to you wooin'; 
But don't forget to be tender, wise. 
Roll out o' your bed when the larks arise, 
An' show him your heart by the light o' your eyes, 

An' love will be ever brewin'. 

***** 



348 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

When man is thoughtless an' woman weak, 
The soothin' word is the word to speak; 
A squirt o' oil on the beds that creak 

Makes rest for the heads there lyin' ; 
A warmin' hug an' a soothin tongue 
A mother must have to coddle her young — 
The lad will change when the birth is sung, 

An' he hears his baby cryin'. 



5f- 

PERSISTENCE. 

If now, or in the days to come, 

We fight 'gainst wrong desires, 
And if we only conquer some 

While others burn like fires. 
Are we the better for the strife 

That overcomes the few? 
In sooth we are, if wish be rife 

To quell the others, too. 

What then? The sword point may be ground 

To try the battle's brunt, 
Though hilt-guard may be quite unsound, 

Or length of blade be blunt, 
'Twere braver far to fight to win 

Than weaken in the fray, 
For strength oft comes when we begin 

To strike the better way. 

-Jf 



UNA DIA EN ESPANIA. 

Softly in the evening trembling, 

Sound the mandolin's bright tones, 
As if rippling rills assembling 

O'er a bed of cascade stones, 
Ere they spring off, unimpeded, 

From the edge in silvery showers. 
Then, beneath, by white foam speeded, 

Purl along by shady bowers. 

On they wander where the river 
Swiftly flows with merry strain. 

By the banks of Guadalquiver, 
In the sunny land of Spain; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 349 



Where the dark-eyed senoritas 

Sway in gay bolero dance, 
Which the caballeros meet as 

Castanets sound the advance. 

Now a dreamy air is flowing 

From the wire strings, sweet and low, 
As if on the water, rowing. 

Hidden players come and go; 
And the language universal 

Love of life and pleasure bears, 
Bringing, for the nonce, dispersal 

Of all dissonance and cares. 

Now a presto strain's inviting 

To the quick fandango's swing; 
Pronto, pronto! feet delighting! _ 

Oh, the joy such moments bring! 
Long the tremulo keeps pouring 

From the vibrant instrument. 
All its sweetness upward soaring 

From a rear street tenement. 



■^- 



A TALE OF AN OLD MANSE. 

Like all things built by hands, 

The old manse fades with age, 
All weather-worn it stands 

A stained and tattered page 
Of household ills and strife, 

O'er which the green mould cra^ds 
To fatten vermin life 

And loose its crumbling walls. 

Snails and such crawling things 

Find slimy food within, 
Where once the echoipgs 

Of joy and merry din 
Rolled through the frescoed halls, 

Where oft the minuet^ 
Was stepped, and madrigals 

Were sung by lips past fret. 



350 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

The master of the place — 

So the old prattle goes — 
Was pudgy, red of face, 

And ruddier of nose, 
Who loved the brimming, bowl, 

Thus killing his mild wife. 
Lived up to his rent roll 

And quarreled all his life. 

His one redeeming trait 

Was love for his maid child. 
With whom he'd sought to mate 

A knight's heir, rich and wild; 
But she, like all her kind. 

Had iOther eyes in view. 
And hotly freed her mind 

Of things she would not do. 

"She'd not be bartered, sold, 

She'd not his will obey, 
She'd flout his title, gold, 

She'd scorn him ev'ry way; 
She'd 'tend no plighting feast. 

She'd show that she would dare, 
She'd wed no drunken beast. 

She'd rather die, so there!" 

And so with love born guile 

The maiden daily planned 
Her battle chart the while. 

To guide her heart and hand; 
To make the story short — 

The marriage eve rolled round; 
The master, with his sort. 

In drunken sleep was found; 

The liquor had been drugged. 

Though tankards seemed intact, 
And quick as it was slugged 

Began the premier act; 
The Clergyman was there. 

The guests were just one side 
And soon the happy pair 

Were groom and loving bride. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 351 

The snoring sots awoke 

And soaked their muddled heads, 
Then harsh the master spoke 

While tearing air to shreds; 
What, why, my daughter, where 

Lags he, thy spouse, my dear? 
All smiles and debonnaire. 

Her own choice answered "Here." 

As though beneath a spell 

The father silent stood, 
His veins began to swell 

As if they'd burst with blood; 
He glanced around the room 

With eyes of rage and hate, 
Then sprung upon the groom 

As though he'd seal his fate. 

"Accursed be this day, 
" Accursed be the cause. 
Accursed be, I say. 

My wayward child that was ; 
My curse on all herein 

From base to roof of it," 
And down he huddled in 

A swift death-dealing fit. 

And so the old manse stands, 

With haunted rooms, they say; 
The daughter till'd the lands. 

But let the house decay; 
No curse upon her fell, 

But blessings strewed her way, 
Her children's children tell 

Of her good deeds to-day. 



THE SPIRIT OF WINTER. 

Between the night and early morn 

The spirit of the northland passed. 
And left the trees of verdure shorn, 

With limp and dead leaves 'neath them massed ; 
His blighting breath, congealed and white, 

Is on the fields and wayside's green, 
As though in silent hours of night 

Transparent shrouds were spread unseen. 



352 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

WETHERSPRINGS TREE. 

The field by the road has an apple tree growing 
Healthy and broad, and it makes a fine showing 
In bourgeoning spring; but when summer's complete 
The north fruit is bitter as gall, the south, sweet. 

"A freak of old Nature," says Doc to his better- 
Half, "plays the same trick with our kind, to the letter; 
A microbe, a devil's whim, something or other 
Bored into the seed-pit — and Willie's twin brother." 

Willie and John were the sons of one mother, 
Each was a duplicate of his twin brother; 
John was the first by a few minutes' start, 
Growing, their likings grew widely apart. 

Willie was liberal, married and settled; 

Three sturdy boys were his, fun-crammed and mettled ; 

Neighbors all liked him for being so pleasant, 

Praised him more absent than if he were present. 

John was a drizzly-day chap — a bad token ; 
Little for much was his guide, though unspoken; 
Show him a way for a profit in trade. 
He'd chance his salvation until it was made. 

Hard as the tree-bark, his pea-heart was showing, 
Sour as the fruit which it bears, he was growing; 
Good he did once, though it was not intended — 
Went short of his breath, and the worms were befriended. 



-^- 



RETROSPECTION. 

The phantoms' hour of eve comes when 

Dim twilight verges night 
And toil of day is over; then 

Around us they alight, 
Impalpable, but very plain 

To minds that welcome give, 
And fain would view in thought again 

The loved whom we outlive. 



BR AMBLES AND j rWIGS_OT_SONG___J^ 
THE MANIAC. 

Ah! sweetest sweet, did you but know 

That your adorer's waiting here, 
You would not, surely, dally so, 

And keep me crouching low m tear; 
You could not, sweet, so cruel be, 

If you but knew that I would fam 
Remain forever, e'en to see 

Your shadow on the wmdow-pane. 

But you will come to me quite soon, 

Quite soon you'll haste to me, no doubt, 
For heard I not the friendly moon 

Tell me to wink the midnight out r 
Then you will steal on tip-toe light 

Adown the stairs and through the door, 
And fly to me with love's delight, 

To be united evermore. 

They've tried to keep us far apart 

By ev'ry form of base disguise; 
They've tried to break your precious heart 

By bolts and bars and cursed lies; 
A suitor, too, they did procure. 

Your burning love for me to quell; 
All, all but that I could endure— 

He's seeking now a bride m hell ! 

O ves! it was a gladsome sight 

To see him, fresh from your embrace, 
Led forward by his fate aright 

Into my shaded lurking place; 
O 'twas a valiant deed and just, 

When we were half a stride apart, 
To clutch his thick white throat and thrust 

My trusty dagger in his heart! 

Your picture from his breast I tore ; 

Ha ha! he fought to keep it there; 
See how his worthless crimson gore ^ 

Has stained your face, my angel fair ! 
But I will bleach it white as snow, 

My lips will soak the ugly stam. 
And on my heart of hearts 'twill grow 

To beauteous life, my sweet, again. 



354 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

And here's a tangle of his hair 

To wind around your shapely arms; 
O, it will make you bracelets rare 

And add new lustre to your charms; 
Its ebon black's besmeared with red, 

The red, methinks, you'll like the best, 
And proudly wear it when we're wed, 

To make my courage manifest. 

Last night, down in the midway dell, 

I hid within a hollow tree. 
And heard the crooning witch's spell 

The stars, to know our destiny; 
From east to west they did translate 

The mystic meaning of each sign, 
And they did all predestinate 

That you shall be forever mine ! 

Forever mine ! forever mine ! 

Ay, while a blade of grass may grow, 
While moon and stars and sun may shine, 

And ocean's foam in ebb and flow; 
While heat may scorch and cold congeal; 

While slimy reptiles coil and crawl ; 
While tigers' whelps their tastes reveal, 

You'll be my life, my light, my all ! 

And ours will be perennial mirth; 

The choicest joys will come in crowds; 
And when we tire of those on earth, 

We'll hie to yonder fleecy clouds, 
And o'er the spangled firmament 

We'll search and find the brightest ray, 
And there, in love's enravagement. 

We'll live unmeasured time away. 

'Tis past the hour, she comes not yet; 

Unfriendly moon, you lied to me; 
She sleeps beneath her coverlet, 

And e'en her shade's denied to me ; 
Dream on all undisturbed^ fair sweet, 

Your guard I'll be till night is o'er, 
And when the morn awakes we'll meet, 

To be united evermore! 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 355 

REGRET. 

How vain and foolish all extreme regret 
For errors past, which mind may not forget; 
'Tis waste of moments on such thoughts to dwell, 
Which wisdom teaches it were wise to quell. 

Look forward, upward, to the better things 
Which call for action, and which each hour brings, 
And like the fabled Phoenix from its pyre, 
Soar from the ashes of outburnt desire. 



ASPIRATION. 

A young artist, a maid, painting under the shade 

Of a patriarch evergreen tree. 
Saw a thrush's bright eyes peering down, looking wise, 

As she linm'd in the lush scenery; 
And his praise waxed so strong in a flood of sweet song- 

For a true landscape critic was he — 
That her mind grew elate at the thought it might rate 

As the prize at the art matinee. 



DECEIVED. 

There ! leave me in peace, I am weary to death, 
The shadows are welcome, most welcome to me, 

The prayers of my innermost spirit and breath 
Go pleading to Heaven's just Judge to be free. 

What is there to live for, that I should remain? 

No summer, no sunshine, all winter and shade; 
The effort of living's to me a dull pain, ' 

Which never on earth can be even allayed. 

You tell me I'm young and am fair to behold, 
That pleasure awaits me wherever I tread ; 

Ah, dear, did you know how I hate to be told 

That stale, worthless fiction, you'd leave it unsaid. 

'Tis true there were lips that had made me believe 
The charms that you speak of were truthfully mine; 

But, then, foolish maiden, no stones he'd weave 
Were ever too flatt'ring for me to decline. 



356 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Ah, me! how I dreamt of a time that would come, 
And pictured a wedding with him by my side; 

How proudly I'd reign in the poorest, plain home, 
And thought 'twould be Heaven in being his bride. 

But now, when the heart he inveigled to love 
Is stricken and dropped as a valueless thing, 

I'd barter the joy of the blessed above 
To blast ev'ry hope that his future may bring. 

Nay, chide me no more for the words I have said, 
My heart and my womanhood both are outraged; 

If wishes of mine could have stricken him dead, 
He'd lie at my feet ere a moment had aged; 

He'd lie at my feet and I'd spurn his vile clay, 
Nor tears would I shed save of bitterest hate 

While cursing his regenade beauty, and day 

He taught me my life was entwined with his fate. 

There, there! I am done, it is past from this hour. 
His mem'ry I'll sweep from the scroll of my life — 

Ah, yes ! it is easy to wish for the power, 

But weak is the will when the heart is at strife. 

O, yes ; I will hide from the world's wistful eye 
The canker that gnaws at my heart's inmost core; 

I'll learn to be brave and forget — or I'll try; 

Dear, what can a weak, foolish woman do more? 



HER LITANY. 

In solemn mood, befitting Lent, 

She hastened on her way, 
To be in time her mind was bent^ 

Determined last to stay; 
Oh, yes, she was in solemn mood, 

And, yet, once in her pew, 
A few things worldly would intrude 

In spite of all she'd do. 

And these mixed with her litany: — 
"Dear Lord, his eyes incline 

To me alone, that he may see 
The beams of love in mine; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 357 

Oh, prompt him to call in to-night 

And be again our guest ; 
Grant me the chance to pin him right, 

And then I'll do the rest !" 



A PRAY'D-FOR RAIN. 

A gentle down-pour, and the half-parched green 
And blighting blossomings regain new life ; 

The fowls are out, flap wings, their feathers preen, 

And dripping red-breasts peck where worms are rife, 

The land's wide pores drink greedily the drops, 
And farmer-folk grow hopeful for good crops. 



THE SWIMMING POOL. 

In the old days, you recall, we went a-swimming, 
When the mill pool and the river were a-brimming, 
When the days were warm and bright, 
When the water was just right. 
And the hours were all delight. 
With nothing dimming. 

Put away the tale you're reading — it's no good. 

And we'll go down to the swimming in the wood; 

Don't you hear the youngsters shout? 

Hurry, and we'll see the rout, 

Now that school's adjourned and out 

And in the flood. 

Here they are — the younger brood a-splashing on the brink, 
There's the big one frogging so you'd think he couldn't 

sink; 
See that header from the stone? 
That was neatly done, you'll own ; 
Hi ! that kid must crack a bone 
To make him think. 

See that pale lad by the oak, a-sprawling on the grass? 
He's for Heaven before the spring — a son of Patty Tass. 
Who is she? O, play your part! 
You got her mitten, not her heart : 
What made you to the gold-fields start, 
But that fair lass? 



358 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

She it was, with others, cribbed our clothes one scorching 

day, 
Hid them in the bushes green and quickly sneaked away; 
What sun-blistered backs we got ! 
Ere we found the hiding spot. 
With our shirts tied knot by knot 
And stuffed with hay. 

She, poor lass, has had full share of other knots since 

then; 
Married a glib city chap, a picture among men; 
Lived a life that sad wives know. 
Bearing both abuse and blow. 
Hiding all she could her woe 
From people's ken. 

Don't you live those merry days once more in what we see? 

Green as ever is the bank, the current runs as free; 

All the sounds that now we hear 

Seem to bring the old days near, 

And the clatter strikes one's ear 

Familiarly. 

When we come down here to-night, forget we're gray- 
streaked men 
While we swim about the pool, and try our skill, as when 
We loved nothing like such fun. 
Ere the serious life begun ; 
We'll forget how Time has run — 
Be boys again. 



THE INVITATION. 

"But why stay here and stifle," he said, 

"When the ocean and country ways call; 
When the artists you know have all fled. 

And there's nothing to keep you at all ; 
Come along for a blue-fishing troll. 

Or a cast where trout beauties are sought; 
Give your easel and sketch a parole 

And prove your good sense, as you ought." 
Thanks — just now L'm in need of the gold 
That I'll hook when this trifle is sold. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 359 
THE PARISH CHURCH. 

The doors are open wide, 
The chancel is alight, 
The organ's gilded pipes show bright 
To those who stand outside ; 
The first bell's clanging din 
Is ringing down the air 
Its call to all for evening prayer: 
"Come in, come in, come in." 

All thick in the gray night 

The ivied walls show dark, 

Save where the snow has left its mark 

In clustered patches white ; 

The lights, reflecting through 

The window's rich stained glass, 

Are streaming out o'er withered grass, 

Laid bare where sharp winds blew. 

The belfry bell again 
Rings, in its latticed height, 
Its last appealing call of night: 
"Come in, come in. Amen." 
And through the welcoming door 
The congregation pass, 
And one, "a wand'ring sheep," alas ! 
Is in the fold once more, 

And hears the hymns of old, 

Familiar to his ear, 

From treble voices, ringing clear 

As in his young life's fold ; 

And recollection bright 

Trails through the years agone, 

When he, poor famished soul, was one 

As they, in holy night. 

And through the organ's sound, 

The worshipers' hymn tones. 

His thoughts fare far from vesper nones. 

From praise and sights around ; 

And in a village fair 

He sees his boyhood church. 

Embowered by ash and silver birch. 

And he a choir-lad there. 



36o BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Like a loud instrument, 
As if my mem'ry blest, 
His gruff voice joins in "Bonem est"' 
With fervidness intent; 
"For Thou, O Lord, hast made 
Me glad through all Thy works" 
In deep-toned base stacatto jerks 
He bellows, unafraid. 

And now on bended knee, 

Eyes roaming here and there, 

'Tis plain that his Thanksgiving prayer 

Is not all it should be; 

But when the good Lord reads 

The heart by its intent, 

Should not the watchers' time be spent 

In prayer, not other heeds? 

The service being o'er, 

A perfect deaconess 

In costume, glibness and address, 

Waylays him at the door ; 
"And where did he reside? 

Would he give her his name?" 
"O, far from here; but I've a dame, 

And, faith, I'm satisHed!" 



^ ' 

ALLEGORY JINGLES. 

A donkey confined in a large pasture lot, 

To coax back the health that he then hadn't got, 

Had nothing to do but to laze and to graze 

And profit in strength through the sunshiny days; 

Full soon all his spare-ribs were hidden in fat, 

His sides grew as hard as a round-sided vat, 

He'd he-haw and prance when his owner would pass, 

And bray "There is nothing can cure you but grass." 

An ebon black crow roosted high on a lime, 

And watched her young brood as they squawked the first 

time. 
Her joy was so loud at the music she heard 
That flocks filled the boughs to learn what had occurred; 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 361 

They praised the proud mother, gave lavish applause 
And vowed that no music could equal their caws, 
Then in sharp derision squawked loud and laughed long 
At hearing the notes of a nightingale's song. 

A sage looking ape, gray and rheumy with age, 
Sat watching young monkeys play tag in his cage; 
They chased up the wires, swung 'round bars like a wheel. 
Sprang straight through the rings, with an ear-piercing 

squeal, 
Rolled over the floor till within the ape's reach, 
Who thrashed them and chattered like fury at each, 
Then scoldingly said in what lingo he had : 
"How dare you be merry when I can't be glad?" 

A pachyderm, huge as a poor cotter's house, 
Was brushed on the foot by a wee little mouse; 
At once, all a-tremble he sniffed, swirled his trunk. 
Lost every iota of nerve and of spunk. 
And, trumpeting loud, filled his fellows with fear 
That some great calamity surely was near ; 
Then bedlam broke loose, to the keepers' dismay. 
While poor little mousie skipped out and away. 

A parrot, once taught by long drilling, to say: 
"Wie gehts, buon giorna, bon soir, and good day," 
Escaped from his cage and flew back to his kind. 
By whom he was welcomed as one of great mind; 
While all of his friends shrieked their primitive tongue, 
To endlessly phrasing his lessons he clung. 
Till soon those a-near him would other trees seek 
Whenever they spotted him opening his beak. 

A dodo once pecked on a leaf of plantain 
A fiction most touching with moral quite plain. 
Its diction was beautiful, style so refined, 
The manuscript was to three critics assigned ; 
Two read with approval and stamped it "O. K.," 
Then to the third dodo 'twas hurried away; 
He damned it outright, cast it on the waste shelf, 
Because he could never have pecked it himself. 

Two dogs in a friendly tift" haggled one day 
When both met while foraging on a highway; 
Said one : ''My ancestors, in dog-ages back. 
Were blue-blooded, headed a king's hunting pack"; 



362 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

The other growled back : "I've no pedigree log, 
And yet I'm a passable, well-thought-of dog; 
You're but a weak pariah tyke, peevish and plain, 
From whom your alleged kin would turn in disdain." 

A vainglorious chouch trail'd a wren in a wood, 
And boasted : "Each year I bring forth a fine brood ; 
My mates are the pick of the red bills from many. 
While you, you brown mite, must be glad to get any." 
''Dear spick and span chouch,'' said the wren, ''You're so 

sweet 
I wish you would visit my homely retreat" ; 
Then both winged away over groves, fields and fens, 
And reached a low nest filled with six fledgling wrens. 

Jf 



A RAINY DAY. 

This morning, ere the chanticleer 

Had plumed his throat to note the strain 
Announcing dawn would soon appear, 

I hear the patter of the rain; 
And all the gloomy forenoon hours, 

It never for a moment ceased. 
But fell in strong and slanting showers. 

As veered the wind from North to East. 

The garden path is strewn with leaves, 

Which, yesterday, lived on the bough ; 
The ruddy rose its petals grieves. 

Which lie beneath the shorn bush now ; 
The pansy bed along the fence. 

And circled plot of mignonette, 
Are sheltered from the violence, 

And bloom in pristine beauty yet. 

The pigeons, snug in roosting rows, 

Have not descended for the crumbs 
The kind and thoughtful housewife throws 

Around the door, when morning comes ; 
The drenched earth partakes the gloom 

That spreads across the firmament. 
And penetrates my little room, 

Though cheery its embellishment. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 363 



On dark and dreary days like this 

A sadness on my spirit stays, 
Which will of mine cannot dismiss, 

Though battled with in various ways; 
Perhaps it is that memory craves 

The dreariest days the year can show. 
To lead our thoughts back to the graves 

Of youth and hopes of long ago. 



DAISIES. 

A Fantasy. 

On the left and right 
Of a path well trod. 
All in gold and white 
Are the daisies bright, 
In the tangled sod. 

In the grassy place 
Where their homes are made, 
There is not a trace 
Over all the space, 
Of a branching shade. 

Yet they are not brown, 
And they do not dim; 
From their deep green gowns 
To their yellow crowns. 
They are neat and prim. 

And they're pretty, too, 
And so fresh and sweet. 
They should have their due 
In fair praise from you. 
When again you meet. 

When the night comes down 
And 'tis time for bed. 
They discard green gowns 
And their golden crowns, 
And wear naught instead. 



364 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

And the reason's right 
That they act upon, 
For they can't look bright 
On the brow of night, 
With their field clothes on. 

For, they know full well, 
That, as stars, they're loved; 
So they rush pell-mell 
Where they nightly dwell, 
Far from earth removed. 

In their upward flight 
O'er the world's dark brink, 
Soon they reach the height 
Of the coal-black night, 
Where they shine and twink. 

Then when darkness yields 
To the morning glows, 
They hie back to fields 
Where the long grass shields, 
While they don their clothes. 

Now, the reason why 
They so disappear 
From the sun-lit sky, 
Is, they're modest, shy,^ 
And would wilt and die 
If found naked here. 



TO-DAY. 



This is the morrow of yesterday; 

To-day will soon be morrow; 
Time speeds too fast on life's highway 

To waste an hour in sorrow. 
The past's entombed, there let it lie; 

The future, who can know it? 
The present, as it hurries by, ^ 

Hail for the good we owe it. 



RELIGIOUS POEMS 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 367 

A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
(Ancient style.) 

All hail ! the ever blessed morn 
On which the Virgin Son was born ; 
Which ushered in redemption's light, 
To shine till time has ceased its tiight. 

'Twas in the bleak Jerusalem, 
When Herod wore the diadem 
Of proud Judea's haughty king. 
That Christ, our Saviour, came to bring 
Release and freedom from the sin 
That our first parents steeped us in ; 
. Which, by their disobedient fall, 
Had barred the gates of Heaven to all. 

Upon a cold December night 

The sky was marvelously bright 

Above a stable, where an ass 

And ox, their workless hours did pass ; 

There, by a manger on the earth. 

The Virgin Mother'd given birth 

To our Redeemer, Lord and King 

Of Heaven and earth, whose praise we sing. 

While angels hovered o'er His head, 
The wise men to His crib were led 
By a bright star, that went before 
To lead them to the lowly door, 
Wherein the infant Christ was laid; 
They entering, knelt down and prayed 
And worshiped Him — their offerings were 
Of gold, with frankincense and myrrh. 

King Herod gave the base command 
To slay all children in the land; 
But Jesus Christ was saved by flight 
To Egypt, in the dead of night. 
'Twas thus the King of Kings had birth! 
'Twas thus the Lord of Heaven and earth 
And all therein, for you and me, 
Was born in lowliest poverty. 



368 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Now may this blessed Christmas Day 
In joy and pleasure pass away; 
May love and harmony abound 
In hearts and lips the earth around; 
May husbands with their wives renew 
The vows of love their courtship knew ; 
May brothers, sisters, kith and kin 
Forgive, forget, true lives begin. 

May tables groan with ev'ry good 
That life may need, in drink and food; 
May children's merry voices ring 
The happiness the day may bring; 
May Santa Glaus be very kind 
With gifts best suited to each mind : 
And may all people with accord 
Enjoy the birthday of our Lord. 

May troubled folk sweet solace find 
On this glad day; may it remind 
All those who from the roof-tree roam, 
A letter's joy to those at home; 
May poor and needy everywhere, 
Be granted all a goodly share 
Of food and gifts, that each may say: 
"God bless'd us all this Christmas Day." 

^ 



GALILEE. 

In Palestine there flows as erst 

Historic Galilee, 
On which the fishing boats are tacking, 

Keeping close a-lee; 
A fleet of single-masted craft 

Drop anchors off the shore, 
And cast their nets for ocean's wealth. 

As in the days of yore. 

The toiling men are bronzed of face 

With stamp of wind and sun, ^ 
From tide to tide they draw their spoil 

Until the catch is done. 
Then landward steering their stanch boats, 

They beach them by the bow, 
And barter, sell their finny loads 

As profit doth allow. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 369 



'Tis thus the view presents itself 

To all who love to dwell 
On scenes where, in days primitive, 

As holy pages tell, 
A crew of hardy Hebrews quit 

Their boats and nettings when 
Their Master bade them follow him, 

As fishers of His men. 

We see laborious Simon on 

The Lake Genesseret, 
Despondent o'er the lack of fish 

The night brought to his net; 
We hear the gentle Master's voice: 

"Launch out into the deep, 
Let out your nets," they strain, they rise 

With fishes heap on heap. 

We view the humble toilers, see 

Their looks of dazed surprise, 
Their wondering thoughts unuttered 

As their eyes meet questioning eyes; 
To Jesus' feet dropped Peter, the 

Impulsive, void of plan, 
And cried, "Depart from me, O Lord, 

For I'm a sinful man." 

We follow Simon Peter, Andrew, 

James and brother John, 
Who ask not why nor whither. 

But with trust they follow on; 
Their faith wrought full obedience. 

By it's light they well could see; 
They walked and talked and hearkened 

Unto Christ, by Galilee. 

We see them. His disciples, while 

The storm around them raves, 
The ship is plunged in fearful gulfs 

And tossed on surging waves; 
Their toil-worn Guide, their sure Mamstay, 

Sleeps on in blest repose; 
He wakes, rebukes their fears, and sea. 

And lo! how calm it flows. 



370 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

That sultry Sabbath morn is plain, 

When through the corn-field went 
The Master and disciples, on 

His Father's work intent ; 
The waving ears of wheat they plucked 

And winnowed in hard hands. 
Were eaten unforbidden — their 

Mild Teacher understands ! 

We see them stand before Him, 

Twelve in all, in ardor one. 
Receiving power to wander forth 

And teach what God hath done: 
To heal the sick, to raise the dead, 

The lepers' pangs to quell. 
To help the fallen, to reclaim 

The lost of Israel. 

On highways and in byways. 

In the desert drear and town, 
In upper room; and synagogue, 

On plain and mountain crown; 
In prison-pens and pest holes, 

Wheresoe'er a sufferer trod. 
They toiled, they preached, they suffered sore. 

For love of man and God. 

O, Palestine, thou cradle where 

The Soul of Love had birth, 
Of prophets, priests, apostles, martyrs, 

Sanctified of earth! 
What tongue can tell thy marv'lous tale? 

What voice thy glory sing? 
What land in all the unborn years 

Such heritage can bring? 

Here bloomed the Vine of David's line. 

Here grew God's precious Son, 
Here, in thy vales and on thy hills 

His wond'rous work was done; 
Here, in His blood was sin submerged. 

Prophetic words fulfilled, 
Here Faith was crowned, O, Galilee, 

And all the earth was thrilled! 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 371 



A SABBATH DAWN. 

All hail! first gleam of this glad day, 

Now tinting the low eastern sky; 
The gray-black dawn fast fades away 

Before the light thy beams supply; 
The joyful world of Nature wakes, 

The rising orb of day to greet, 
Ere sluggard man his couch forsakes 

To view thy glory all complete. 

Father of Life! Thou 'st set apart 

One out of ev'ry seven days. 
That we know Thee as Thou art. 

By thoughtful rest, by prayer and praise; 
That we may see, feel, understand 

The wondrous love on man bestowed 
In countless mercies from Thy hand. 

That since creation's dawn hath flowed. 

The myriad blooms, the fresh'ning shower; 

The health reviving fragrant air; 
The peace of mind this Sabbath hour; 

The gift of fervent, thankful prayer; 
The love of friends, the lack of hate; 

The strong desire to better be; 
The strength of will, the hope elate 

To meet our loved who rest in Thee. 

By Thy transcendent, endless love. 

All Nature worketh for our weal; 
The light and warmth from worlds above 

Are but reflections of Thy zeal; 
Though ev'ry note of earth's glad birds. 

And ev'ry flower divinely dressed, 
Were voices turned to ardent words, 

Not half Thy care would be expressed. 

And so, with grateful hearts this day 

Te Deums swell within our breasts. 
Far more than mortal tongue can say. 

To Thee, our Father, Guest of Guests; 
And while Thy temples everywhere, 

By man upraised, by Nature grown, 
Are vocal with Thy praise and prayer, 

We magnify Thee, Lord, alone. 



372 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

A SERMONETTE. 

Let all these things be buried deep 

In mind, beyond strength of desire 
To resurrect them; or, failing, keep, 

As stoker keeps his unused fire, 
Draft choked; that no assault of Will 

May force themselves to win their way, 
And with repeated temptings grill 

Thy fending conscience — these are they: 
Lust, covetousness, malice — three, 
Pride, envy, sloth, and gluttony. 

But in their stead let these abide 

And peace shall reign and sooth thy soul. 
As reign fixed orbs in heaven wide 
While satellites around them roll ; 
Such peace shall never cease to please. 

Thy spiritual mind 'twill fill 
With sweet content — and they are these: — 
Charity, chastity, patience, love 
And faith, all other things above. 



^ 



O, SPIRIT OF MINE. 

How wilt thou feel in the Judgment day. 

Before the Almighty Throne? 

Strive to excuse or explain away 

The lapses thou then must own? 

O, Spirit of mine, keep thy lamplight trimmed, 

To brighten thy way, ere thine eyes are dimmed; 

Make merciful Promise and Love thy stay, 

To guide thee on to the close of day. 

Now is the time, while the hour is thine, 

To garner the gifts of Life, 

Stamp on thy buckler Redemption's sign, 

And battle with evil strife; 

Keep step in the ranks of the loving Chief 

Till shadows of Night bring a blessed relief. 

Enfolding thee softly till strife shall flee. 

And Dawn breaks brightly on Victory! 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG Z72> 



SANCTA HUMILITAS. 

Keep, Lord, Thy child in touch with Thee 
Whate'er his many failings be; 
Let not the dearth of fortune's dole 
Distress the welfare of his soul; 
Surround it as with shields of brass 
If selfish love of wealth harass; 
But bless its use, if come it should, 
To be an instrument of good. 

Teach him aright Thy gifts to use, 

Give strength to never one abuse; 

Make him alert in act and mind 

To bear and forbear with his kind; 

Increase his cravings for Thy dowers 

Of truth, love, trust, through life's brief hours, 

And add, Lord, to the trinity 

The crown of true humility. 

Jf 



OUR FATHER. 

"Our Father who art in Heaven." 

From our lips and hearts be given. 

For thy tireless, tender care. 

Thanks and praise in hymn and prayer; 

Though thou art Creator, King, 

Of ev'ry universal thing, 

And all that is in Heaven above, 

Thy countless mercies hourly prove 

Thy love for us all love transcends, 

And to the vilest wretch extends. 

"Hallowed be thy Name." 

Thou who in Thy great love came 
In the guise of mortal frame, 
Suffering obloquy and blame. 
Scoffing, taunting, mocking, shame; 
Hunger, cold and weariness. 
Grief, temptation, soul distress; 
Agony and bloody sweat, 
Hate, desertion, doubt and threat; 
Judas kiss, betrayal, denial, 



374 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Apprehension, 'partial trial; 

Smiting, spat on rabble-scorn, 

Naked scourging, crown' of thorn; 

Torture, faintness on the road 

To Calvary, beneath Thy load ; 

Stripping by the cruel crew. 

Opening Thy wounds anew; 

Stretching out each foot and hand 

Meekly at the rough command; 

Feeling pressed the jagged spikes 

Ere the ready hammer strikes; 

Blanched with agonizing pain 

As they pierce flesh, muscle, vein; 

Raised aloft for all to see 

Mid the soldiers' ribaldry; 

Feeling spear thrust in Thy side. 

Whence Thy precious blood-drops glide, 

Trickling down upon the cross, 

Expiating for our loss, 

Oozing out till Thy last breath 

Saved us from eternal death, 

Made atonement for the sin 

Disobedience steeped us in; 

Hallowed and blessed be 

Thy holy name eternally. 

"Thy Kingdom come." 

To ev'ry soul in Christendom, 
And those who know not of Thy law, 
Into Thy fold, O, Father, draw; 
Where doubt and darkness most prevail, 
There let Thy light and truth avail ; 
And where Thy holy will's defied 
For lust or gain or ruling pride, 
There let the current of Thy grace 
Contrition pour and sin efface. 
Till ev'ry stubborn soul succumb 
And pleasing to Thy sight become. 

"Thy will be done on earth." 

E'en from the moment of our birth 

May we through changes, good or ill, 

Thy saving rules of life fulfill ; 

That unto others we shall do, 

In word and thought and action, too, 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 375 

As we'd desire to be done by, 
And thus our living sanctify; 
And never for a moment pause 
To doubt the wisdom of Thy laws, 
But unto Thee to give the whole 
Pure adoration of the soul, 
That grace to do Thy will be given, 

"As it is in Heaven." 

"Give us this day our daily bread." 

Most beauteous Lord, Provider, Head, 

Be it Thy pleasure to afford 

A plenteous portion to our board; 

Be it each day our thankful task 

Thy blessing on our food to ask, 

And on the nutriment of those 

Who, from the dawn of day to close. 

Remember not the sole source whence ' 

Cometh all their sustenance; 

Assuage the miseries of the poor 

Whom hunger drives from door to door, 

And all who, through adversity, 

Feel the cold clasp of poverty; 

For ev'ry creature. Lord, in need 

Of daily bread, we intercede. 

"And forgive us our trespasses." 

With contrite hearts and fervidness. 

We bow, O Father, to the dust 

Before Thy sight, in Christian trust 

That Thou art merciful, o'er just, . 

E'en to the soul of monstrous lust, ' 

And crimson-stained iniquity; 

So come we hopeful unto Thee 

In sorrow and humility, 

Confessing our unworthiness. 

While pleading for forgiveness; 

Father most loving, peace confer! 

O, judge us not by what we were, 

But by each action, thought and word 

Our lives in future will record. 

And by the penitence which we t 

Now feel for e'er offending Thee; 

But far exceeding these above, j 



Z76 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

By Thine exhaustless mercy, love, 
Forgive us, Lord omniscious. 

"As we forgive those who trespass against us." 

"And lead us not into temptation." 

Lord, we raise this supplication 

Morn and night and day by day, 

Lest from righteousness we stray; 

Weak we are and much inclined 

To follow sin's inducements blind, 

Unless Thy all-protecting care 

Shall guard us from the tempter's snare; 

Into our souls, O Lord, instil 

A love to so perform Thy will, 

That every act and thought will be 

Pure and acceptable to Thee; 

And when we plead for power to shun 

Allurements of the evil one. 

Which rise before us in the street 

And in the closet's calm retreat. 

By light of day and dark of night, 

Our sinful natures to incite, 

Our prayers, O Lord, refuse not then, 

"But deliver us from evil." Amen. 



EVENING HYMN. 

The day's nigh spent, the deep'ning shades 

Are slowly falling far and wide; 
When the last gleam of twilight fades, 

Sweet Comforter with us abide. 

With us abide, as through the days 
Since first the breath of life we drew; 

Since first we lisped in prayer and praise 
To thank Thee day by day anew. 

To thank Thee for the gift of life, 

For all the good that it contains; 
Yea, even for the toil and strife 

O'er which we rise with strength and gains. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG zTj 

Who. who but Thee can know the need 

Of sorrow in these hearts of ours; 
And who but Thee doth hear and heed 

The silent prayers of anguished hours. 

We are, at best, but grov'hng things 

When Thou art not our souls desire; 
But when Thou art, the spirit sings 

Through weal and woe, through plague and mire. 

The darkness of approaching night 

Thou send'st for rest, for work's release; 

And though our eyes be closed to sight, 
We feel Thy presence and Thy peace. 

And thus in confidence we lie 

As lies the babe on mother's breast; 
For Thou, our all, art ever by. 

And what Thou wiliest is the best. 

And now the day has reached the deep 

Of Time's abysmal nevermore; 
Lord, keep us in our course, as keep 

Thy lights which flood the sea and shore. 



"UNTIL SEVENTY TIMES SEVEN." 

Matthew xviii., 22. 

When I, who am so weak. 

By sins desires am driven. 
The Mercy fount I seek. 

And am forgiven. 

Again I stumble, fall, * 

Besmirched as oft before, 
And when for help I call 

I'm cleansed once more. 

Ashamed at last am I 

For pardon more to plead ; 
He surely should deny, 

Though great my need. 



378 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

And yet I cannot stay 

From His soul-melting plea; 

His tender voice alway 
Is calling me. 

With love so wondrous shown, 

Why, why do I decline? 
A very heart of stone 

Is this of mine. 

It is not dread of hell 

That stirs my conscience so; 
'Tis loving me so welL 

Who's base and low. 

'Tis seeing, when I fall 

In sin's debasing mires. 
He loves me through it all 

And never tires. 

Most certain 'twas for me 

He died and suffered so. 
And yet, ungratefully, 

I from Him go. 

'Tis sure, if I say yea, 
I may be cleansed and strong; 

Then Saviour, wash, I pray, 
My sins and wrong! 

Into my spirit pour 

Thy Pentecostal fires ; 
,Burn even to the core, 

My foul desires. 

And henceforth unto Thee 

My soul shall strive aright; 
Make Thine abode in me. 

Love Infinite! 



-*■ 



A MORNING PRAYER. 



O Thou, our Life, Light, Hope and Way, 
Direct and keep us through the day, 
Rule all we'll do, and think, and say, 
Till night brings restful hours. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 379 

And when we then shall seek our bed, 
May all we've done, and thought, and said, 
Add to our weal, be hallowed, 
And peace, Thy peace, be ours. 

5f 



A PRAYER. 

Eternal Lord of life and light. 

If it should be Thy will 
To summon me from earth this night, 

While round me all is still, 
My soul would gladly fly away 

Ere night its course has run ; 
But, live or die, O Lord, I pray 

Thy will, not mine, be done. 

In pain I linger here alone, 

Nor rest nor ease have I, 
Through sinew, muscle, flesh and bone, 

The pangs of torture fly; 
But what, my God, must Thou have borne 

For me and such as me! 
From Bethlehem's crib till pierced and torn 

On blood-stained Calvary! 

O, hear me, Saviour, hear my prayer! 

If I must suffer still. 
Grant me a patient heart to bear 

Thy just and holy will; 
A calm, unmurmuring spirit. Lord, 

Unto Thy servant give. 
That with Thy will it may accord. 

To die or yet to live. 



TE DEUM LAUDAMUS. 

Sing, sing a rejoiceful toned strain, 
O voice of my soul, pulsing praise. 

And carol with fervor again 
For this glorious jewel of days; 

This emerald crown of the year, 
The vesture of hill, dale, and sward, 

The fragrance, the bloom, the mind's cheer- 
Give praise, O my soul, to the Lord. 



38o BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

PENITENCE. 

O ever-loving, patient Lord, 

My refuge, stay, my all! 
This wretched soul of mine is stirred 

By Thy unceasing call; 
From deep contrition's flood I raise 

My thoughts to Thee in prayer; 
O rescue me from sinful ways, 

O save me from despair. 

Sunk in the mire of sin am I, 

With naught whereon. to stand; 
Dear Saviour, look with pitying eye. 

Give me Thy helping hand; 
Thou art the light of all my hopes 

In this desponding hour, 
O raise my soul from where it gropes, 

With Thy Almighty power. 

Reject not, Lord, for Jesus' sake, 

A guilty thing like me ! 
The slough of sin I would forsake, 

And cry for aid to Thee; 
I'm weak, but Thou can'st make me strong 

I'm bound, but Thou can'st free; 
From righteous ways I've wandered long — 

Have mercy, Lord, on me. 



DEO GRATIAS. 

For long he'd walked in life's dedalion -ways 

And gathered of the blooms exhaling there, 
But in a later year the withered sprays 

And rotted leaves were sights he could not bear; 
He cast them out, and turned his feet unto 

Prolific fields, and garnered from the sod 
Life blooms etern, preserved by Heaven's own dew- 

And they went with him to the throne of God. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGSOF^ONG__38i 



A NIGHT HYMN. 

Almiffhty Father, source of .love 
Whence never ending blessings flow. 

With all Thy angel hosts above 

Thy creatures praise Thee here below; 



Thy mercy mind cannot conceive, 
Nor can a mortal tongue recite 

The countless blessings we receive 

From Thee, our Father, day and mght. 

We see the cloud-drifts floating high 

Across the silent vault of mght; 
Bevond the deep star-studded sky 

Is baihed in streams of pale moonlight; 
And low we bow in wonder, awe, 

In knowing earth, air, sky and sea, 
With myriad worlds obey Thy law. 

Transgressed by us unceasingly. 

O, grant that while we here remain 

Each moment of the time may find 
Us pure and ready to attain . 

The bliss for which we were designed. 
Let no vile thought our minds ensnare, 

Safe keep us in Thy holy sight. 
Spread o'er us Thy protecting care, 

Tlmighty Father, through the mght. 



VESPERTIME NONES. 

Father in Heaven, here in Thy house of Praise, 
ol Tiraver and holy peace, we come to raise. 
With s^u[fuTtongues,'the thanks the love we owe 

|, ev'ry ^oo^,^^/\-^LT'nd1.'erVvTere. 
ISsfa^rw^rU^' Vrf f^^t ^^^ ^^^^ 



382 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

REST IN THEE. 

When age upon our span of life is closing, 
And lengthening shadows on our pathway lie 

Like streaks of gloom on ebbing tides reposing, 
When day's departing from the sombre sky. 

Our trust in Thee, O Lord, may it not waver, 
However rough or dim the way we tread; 

Our sure support comes only by Thy favor, 
Our strong defense Thy mercy o'er us shed. 

With patience and unwavering strength endow us 
To quell the temptings that so oft assail 

Our wayward nature, which would fain allow us 
To seek the depths, unless Thy love prevail. 

Grant us Thy peace, which never mortal knoweth 
Save those who glory in Thy holy will; 

Give us the rapture of Thy love, which floweth 
As flow the waters that are never still. 

O, Heavenly Father, by Thy love most tender. 
So purge our hearts from all iniquity, 

That now and in the hour of life's surrender, 
Our trusting spirits may find rest in Thee. 



DOMINI EXAUDI ORATIONEM MEAM. 

Lord, little of earth's wealth do I require 

Above that which sustains the life Thou gavest me; 
But much I need, Oh, much do I desire 

The strength and Will to wake the spirit's lethargy 
For others' good. Blot out my self esteem; 

Bloom in its stead a truer, livelier fervency, 
To ease the ills of those in trouble's stream 

With increased faith, more love, more thanks, more 
charity. 

^ 

PRAYER. 

Poor soul, aweary of the strife . 

That bows thee with its weight of care, '< 

The burden cast from out thy life 

By soaring high on wings of prayer; • 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 383 

Turn thee unto the throne of grace 

For that sweet rest thy soul may know, 

Where Love is waiting to efface 
The stain that causes all thy woe. 

The solace of a fervent prayer, 

Arising from repentent souls, 
Doth banish envy, hate, despair, 

And leadeth unto peaceful folds, 
Wherein is found a heavenly calm, 

The purest joy that mind may know, 
Where Love Divine's the precious balm 

And healing waters ever flow. 

Oh, God of mercy, pity, love, 

May Thy pervading presence save 
Us from all sin; raise us above 

The weaknesses that would enslave; 
Dwell in our hearts from this blest hour; 

Direct our ev'ry step, we pray; 
Enshroud us in Thy love and power; 

Bless, guard and keep us night and day. 



UNTO THEE, LORD GOD. 

Oft-times a little child, when weary playing, 
Turns gladly to the haven of his rest. 

Unmindful of all playthings, undelaying 

To find it on a waiting mother's breast; 

So we of older years grow oft aweary 

Of struggling with the world's distress and grief; 

To whom, then, shall we turn with faith sincerely 
But unto Thee, Lord God, to find relief. 



VESPER HYMN. 

In the Vale of Technio, Switzerland. 

Evening shadows follow fast 

On the disappearing day; 

From the mountain wails the blast; 

Flocks are driven to the fold. 

Shepherds watch that none may stray 

Out into the darkening wold. 



384 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Vesper bells are sounding clear 
From the cloister drear and gray, 
By the sky-reflecting meer; 
Slower, softer now the sounds 
Die upon the air away; 
Silence all the vale surrounds. 

Hark ! it is the vesper hymn, 
Which the Benedictines play 
In the monastery dim; 
Now the many voices rise. 
Singing strains the bells convey, 
While the fading daylight dies : 

Ave Maria, 
Now to thee our pleading hymn 
Raise we in the twilight dim: 

Ora pro nobis. 

Sancta Maria, 
Virgin Mother of our Lord, 
Hear us pray with one accord : 

Ora pro nobis. 

Sancta Dei Genitrix, 
With thy dear Son intercede 
For our souls' supporting need : 

Ora pro nobis. 

Amen. 



AT THE GATE. 

In fervent, pleading prayer, O Lord, 

My spirit cries for aid from Thee; 
It craves a sorrowing soul's reward 

Of peace, which cometh not to me; 
Turn not away because I am 

A wayward mortal steeped in sin. 
But free me from all stain and sham 

And make me fit to enter in. 

O take me in, for I am weak, 
My load has grown so burdensome. 

The way has grown so rough and bleak 
That stumbling hope is growing numb; 



BRAMB1^S_AND2WIGS_0^ 

Where shall I go, What can I do 
If from Thy gate I'm turned away? 

Nay, Lord, if only to look through 
I'll cast my load, and here 111 stay! 

O truly wise, persistent soul, 

But lack of Faith hath made thee err, 
The bars that seemed to hide thy goal 

Were but imagined gossamer; 
Thy plea to enter hath been heard, 

And peace awaits to garb its guest ; 
The call's for thee, yea, hear the Word.- 

"Come unto me, I'll give thee rest. 



-^- 



AD MULTUS ANNOS. 

For these things I have tried and prayed 

From day to day for many a year :— 
To love my kind of every grade 

Be Irue to friends, whate'er their sphere; 
To render others good for ill 

And help them when by trouble trod, 
But much, much more there lacks to hiU 

The soil's true need-Oh, grant it, God! 

A DREAM OF PARADISE. 

tPs then w.thout trying, the mind takes to flymg, 

QuintiUions of miles away, qmck as a wmk. 

And far bevond that it goes, past "'^s unnumbered ^ 
"^ Whose lights have been seekmg o-^"* |m«fir^st^ray, 
On on through the void it wmgs, strung, u 

Have grown to be countless as sands of the sea. 



386 BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 

Through millions and millions of miles it extended, 

All f ocussed to sight in the clear atmosphere ; 
It seemed as if all earthly beauty were blended 

In even the smallest of things far and near ; 
A mystical weaving, beyond all conceiving 

Of human imagining, halo'd the air, 
That beamed without ceasing with infinite pleasing 

On all of the glorified denizens there. 

And earthly resemblance in purified feature 

Remained, wheresoever the dreamer's eyes led, 
Though stains of all sin-taint were cast from each creature 

And beauty of holiness shone there instead; 
For all were of those who had had tribulation, 

Whose faults had been washed in a penitent flood. 
Whose spirits were passed in the first Judication 

And sealed with the pardoning grace of Christ's blood. 

No crownings of gold were their foreheads distressing, 
' No harpers with harp-chants the atmosphere filled ; 
But, oh ! the voiced-canticle binds all expressing 

Save that 'twas the soul of all sweet sounds distilled; 
'Twas Love's Benedicite Love's praise outpouring, 

Te Deums of joy from the souls of the blest, 
And full Jubilates by angels adoring 

The Lord God Almighty, in whom they had rest 

And brighter than emeralds spread the mead's grasses, 

Which never showed withering, needed not care ; 
And clear as the sparkle of mine's rarest glasses 

The flower-banked brooks and the streams purling there ; 
The woods were instinct with the song-birds' exhaling, 

The paths were as soft as a moss-spreading grove, 
The fountains of crystalline waters unfailing, 

Like tiny exemplars of Infinite love. 

But through all the mystical scenes that enchanted, 

And all the soul-music entrancingly sweet. 
The Spirit of Slumber with doubtings was haunted 

That it was the holy of holies complete; 
It was but the vestibule leading up higher, 

Where venial-stained souls for their faults were detained 
Till bleached white as snow, when their stay would expire, 

Then they were of those who had Paradise gained. 



BRAMBLES AND TWIGS OF SONG 387 

As faint as the glow of a fire-fly to sunlight, 

Minute as an atom to all worlds combined, 
Is human conception of even a dream's sight 

Of that for which sin-cleansed souls were designed. 
'Twas but a chimera of longing and hoping, 

A brain's errant fancy in lethargic rest, 
Which may, in due season, quell guessing, mind-groping, 

And reach, by God's mercy, the land of the blest. 
^ 

THE PLOUGHMAN. 

There was joy in the song of the ploughman strong, 

While he rested his panting mares, 
As he glanced all around on the up-turned ground 

Where he'd slaughtered the fallow's tares ; 
For his spirits beat glad with the hopes which he had 

Of the yield of the land he'd trod — 
Now he knows not a care for the grain waving there, 

For he sleeps 'neath the knoll's green sod. 
-}f 

HARVEST TIME. 

With care the harrowed ground 

Was strewn with pregnant seed; 
When harvest time came round 

Most fruitful was the meed; 
We saw wain after wain 

Packed high above the thills 
With sacks of golden grain, 

File to the busy mills. 

Another year, the field 

That gave such recompense, 
Returned but scanty yield 

For God's good providence ; 
The rain and light and heat 

Were showered with bounteous hand, 
But scarce and poor the wheat 

Of the neglected land. 

So to these lives of ours 

Is sent the vital seed 
In never ceasing showers. 

With grace for ev'ry need; 
Soon comes our harvest round, 

From which are stacked full sheaves; 
God grant there may be found 

Much more than stalks and leaves. 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



M^ 28 m^ 



